Tatters
by Draeconin
Summary: Some of my stories that have been abandoned.
1. Dhampyre

**Dhampyre**

by Draeconin

**E-Mail: **draeconin at gmail dot com  
**Rating:** Adult  
**Pairing: **Harry/Draco  
**Spoilers:** Yep.  
**Warnings:** m/m, slash, language, AU, OOC  
**Disclaimer:**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The story is mine, and if you don't recognize it, it's mine. Everything else belongs to the copyright holders. This disclaimer applies to all following chapters.  
**A/N:** I'm ignoring HBP.  
**Summary:** An ill-considered walk ends Harry's life - and gives him An ill-considered walk ends Harry's life - and starts a new one.a new one.

**Chapter One**

Mid October

Harry had come back after the summer of his fifth year still mourning the loss of Sirius. All he wanted was to be left alone to deal with his grief in his own way. However his friends and fellow Gryffindors had seen fit to inflict him with their well intentioned, cloying concern and worry. Several times a day he was reminded of his godfather's death, and his loss, renewing and re-opening the emotional wound each time. Finally he couldn't take it any longer, and decided to go for a walk. Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed that he had wandered deeply into the Forbidden Forest.

_"Depereo!"(1)_

Harry whirled about, whipping his wand out as he did so, but it was too late. He only had time to see Lucius Malfoy's hateful, triumphant countenance before the spell hit him and he fell to the ground. Even so he didn't lose consciousness, and soon the elder Malfoy's hated visage came into his view again, leering down at his helpless, slowly dying form.

For a wonder Harry didn't hurt, although he felt his strength slowly trickling out of his limbs, like sand through an hourglass.

"Stupid, Potter," Lucius drawled at him, enjoying his chance to gloat. It was the reason he had chosen to cast the spell he had, rather than Avada Kedavra. With the latter it would have been over too soon. "One would think that the famous Harry Potter would realize that our Lord Voldemort would have someone keeping an eye on Hogwarts for just such an opportunity as this."

"It's nice to know that even the 'great' Lucius Malfoy can be reduced to lackey status," Harry said weakly, feeling about for his wand.

Lucius snarled at the boy's insult. "I'm quite pleased that your fatal mistake came on my watch, boy. I'm sure that the Dark Lord will reward me greatly for bringing in your body. And now, _Potter_," he spat with a nasty grin, "I must bid you adieu. _Avad-_"

Lucius Malfoy's utterance of that spell would never be completed. Even as he began it, a voice came from behind him.

_"Silencio!"_

At the same time, Harry had used what strength he could muster to try to roll out of the path of the death curse. An unnecessary effort, as it turned out. Even so, Harry had no idea what he would have done afterward. He had lost his grip on his wand when he fell, he didn't know where it was at the moment, and he didn't have the strength, now, to tackle the man and fight him physically. Indeed, he felt as though every muscle in his body had become just so much treacle.

Lucius' look of triumph shattered at the interruption of his spell. He turned to glare at the source of the silencing spell, then showed unchecked rage as he recognised his son's voice and face. _'How dare you?' _he raged at his son. It was soundless, of course, due to the spell upon him. He raised his wand to curse the boy, then silently cursing his lack of voice, strode towards the boy, intent on beating his interfering brat into submission.

Panicked at having to face his father in a situation like this, Draco's mind groped for a spell to protect himself - to stop his father's advance - but in his panic, the only one that came to mind was the last one he had heard. _"Depereo!"_ he yelled desperately, waving his wand in the appropriate pattern; a spell the enraged man who was now threatening him had taken great pains to drill into him, as it could be cast far more often during a battle than 'Avada Kedavra', while still rendering your opponent helpless and, eventually, dead. His relief was short lived as he saw his father fall to the ground. Then as he remembered what that spell did, he fell to his knees, dropping his wand in the process. "No," he whispered. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Father. I didn't mean to kill you."

Lucius, though still conscious, also still had the silencing spell on him and so couldn't reply. It was probably just as well, as he would likely have used the last of his magic, if possible, to have his son join him in death.

Draco had seen Harry wandering away from the castle without his 'sidekicks', Ron and Hermione - a rare occurence these days. If it hadn't been for the Gryffindor's obvious distraction, Draco mightn't have taken the effort to follow him. But, curious about what the green-eyed boy, his secret crush, was up to, he had followed. He had been shocked to see his father start stalking Harry shortly after the Gryffindor had entered the Forbidden Forest, and had followed even more cautiously.

He was now feeling torn between guilt and grief for his father, despite how the man had changed over recent years, and his rage towards him for what he'd done to Harry. He had been taken by surprise when his father had finally acted, and hadn't reacted in time to prevent Harry's being cursed. Then it had taken him a few moments to recover from his shock when Harry had fallen victim to the draining curse. He was glad that he'd stopped his father from giving the coup de grace, but it was too little, too late.

Giving his father a wide berth and avidly avoiding looking at the man, Draco made his way to the fallen 'Golden Boy'. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid... " he muttered to the boy, almost a young man, as he again went to his knees, this time to pick up and cradle Harry's head in his lap. "What did you think you were doing, Potter?"

Due to years of malicious words and actions aimed at him by the blond, Harry was shocked by Draco's current words and actions, but tried not to show it as he replied. "Walking," he said, and then was even more shocked at how weak and breathy his voice had become in such a short time.

"Your father? For me?" he asked, completely befuddled.

Draco ignored the question. "Well, you've just given the war to Voldemort, haven't you? You just _had_ to go and get yourself killed, didn't you?" Draco's voice and face oozed an almost gentle scorn and disdain, but his eyes showed his despair, and he didn't seem to notice the tears streaming down his face.

"Are you responsible for this?" a new voice demanded with an angry hauteur. "Are you responsible for littering these grounds with bodies?"

Draco looked up. A stranger stood there exuding an aura of command. He appeared to be about 35 years of age and had dark, wavy, chestnut hair of a medium long cut, and pale skin that was only lightly coloured by the sun. His clothing, although of a good cut and quality, was at least a few years out of date. Draco was too distraught to care about the stranger or his demeanour. The man's air of command demanded a response from him however, and in his state of mind, that is what he responded to. "Just him," Draco replied numbly, gesturing towards his father. "He did for Potter, here."

The man looked from the blond boy to the white-blond man on the ground who, despite the fact that he was obviously dying, was still trying to curse the boy, his mouth moving and his wand waving unsteadily in the air. "A relative of yours?" he inquired, noticing the resemblance.

"My father," Draco replied distractedly, already creating an emotional distance between him and the man whom he'd slowly grown to despise, while still retaining a distant love for the father that he used to be.

A frown fleetingly crossed the man's face. "I can save one of them," he offered, "but not both." He then silently cursed his unguarded tongue. That he had offered anything, rather than taking advantage of the situation, shocked him. But as he had offered, he was now bound by his honour to follow through.

That caught Draco's attention. "Depereo has no counter," he said, not daring to hope. "It's almost always deadly, eventually." There _was_ a counter, but it involved a rare potion which took over a week to brew (under optimal conditions), a ritual, and at least three people to enact it - none of which were available.

"You're wasting time, boy," the man said impatiently.

While he still retained a modicum of love for the man his father used to be, the man Lucius was now would waste no time in killing all of them, should he be saved. With a quick, agonized glance at his father, who had finally run out of strength and was merely laying on the ground glaring at him, Draco replied, "Potter."

The man knelt in the dirt at Harry's side, and addressed him. "Do you want to live?" he asked the green-eyed boy.

Harry looked at him as though the man were mad, to ask such a question, but he nodded - a barely noticeable movement, due to Harry's quickly weakening condition.

"Will you accept life from me?" the man inquired.

Harry frowned weakly, considering the two questions to be too closely related to bother with asking the second, but replied. "Yes," he whispered.

The man now addressed Draco. "Do not interfere, if you want your friend to live."

Draco nodded, although he and Potter had never really been friends. Then his eyes widened as he saw a pair of fangs peeking out from under the man's upper lip. He realised, now, what sort of life this man was offering Harry; but it was better than no life at all - wasn't it? - so he nodded again, and backed off. A vampire? But it was daylight! Not even mid-afternoon, yet! Then a word crept to the front of his mind; a word that he'd only heard in reference to long-dead legends. Dhampyre. Daywalker.

Draco watched as the man picked the upper half of Harry's body off the ground, almost cradling him as one would a lover, eliciting an unwanted pang of jealousy from the blond, then winced as he saw those fangs sink into Harry's carotid artery. It took all of Draco's much-vaunted Malfoy self-control to not tear the young man he loved from the dhampyre's arms - away from the danger. But both fear of the creature and the knowledge that Harry was dead anyway if this didn't work, restrained him.

The dhampyre seemed to drink from Harry for a long time before drawing away and slashing his own wrist, bringing it to Harry's lips. Harry drank, not seeming to know what he was doing. His face was pale, despite his tan - almost literally bloodless.

The dhampyre looked at Draco, visibly hesitating before coming to a decision. "Come here, boy," he ordered.

Draco shook his head, backing away a few steps. "I'd rather not accept your 'gift'," he demurred. He was terrified, and just barely keeping himself under control.

"As you're not in need of it, it is not being offered. This is for you and your friend," the man said impatiently. "Come! There isn't much time!"

Hesitantly, mentally debating the wisdom of correcting the... _man's_ mistaken assumption regarding Harry and him, Draco came forward, stopping while still just out of reach - he thought. With amazing speed, the man reached forward and caught Draco's wrist. Bringing it to his mouth briefly, he slashed the fair skin with his sharp fangs, and held Draco's bleeding wrist to Harry's mouth, despite the blond's now desperate struggles to get away. Harry sucked eagerly at this blood as well, licking Draco's wrist in the process. To his great confusion, Draco found the pain of his cut wrist diminish, then vanish, to be replaced with a mildly pleasing sensation.

"He won't attack you, now. He will recognise you no matter what state he ever finds himself in," the man explained, even as Harry continued to lap at Draco's wrist. "You will be his Donor. And considering your feelings for him, you may even become his Companion," he continued, amusement evident in his voice.

At that declaration Draco snatched his arm back from a grip that had gone lax without his noticing, his face burning, and scrambled away. "All I feel for that git is disdain," he sneered from a safe distance.

"Which is why you chose him over your father," the man replied knowingly.

"My father would have killed me," Draco said, drawing himself up and defending himself.

"I saw that," the man replied somberly, "but don't lie to a vampire, boy; we can smell pheromonal responses quite well."

Draco was desperate to get off this subject. "But you're not a vampire: not a regular one, at any rate. You're a dhampyre, aren't you? It's full day, after all."

_'And what in Merlin's name did he mean by me being Ha- Potter's companion?' _Draco had a fairly good idea about the donor part, although he was far from being easy with the thought.

The man smiled wryly. He recognised the ploy, but allowed it. "That I am," he admitted, "and your friend, here, will be one as well."

"Look at your wrist," the dhampyre ordered, suddenly.

Doing so, dreading to see what damage had been done (the reason he hadn't looked until now), Draco was amazed to see that there wasn't a mark upon it. The slash the dhampyre had created had healed, and without a scar. Looking up, somewhat dazed with all that had transpired, Draco asked, "Who are you?" It wasn't, perhaps, the question that one would have expected him to ask at that point, but it was one that had been nagging at him for awhile, now.

Gently laying a now-unconscious Harry down, the man stood before giving a little, mocking bow. "My apologies. The press of the moment, you understand. My name is Jonathan Cornelius Mardling; third of that name, and last."

"Draco Lucian Malfoy," Draco replied, "and your childe is Harry James Potter. My father is - was," he corrected himself sadly, but with some relief as he noted that his father's eyes were open in his still angrily glaring countenance, but were unfocused in death, "Lucius Malfoy."

The man smiled that the young blond had acknowledged the brunet as his childe. "You know a little of us at least," he said, pleased. "Should I be sorry about your father?" he asked, noting the boy's mixed reactions.

Draco shrugged sadly, then drew himself up proudly. "He died in his lord's service," he said, then his figure drooped ever so slightly. "Much good it did him, or anyone else," he said under his breath.

The dhampyre heard, but didn't remark on it. "Do you two belong to Hogwarts, yonder?" he asked, looking in that direction.

Draco felt panic rising in him again at the thought of Harry and Hogwarts. "They'll think _I_ did something to him!" he said quietly, his apprehension showing through despite his best efforts.

It was quite evident to Mardling that the blond boy felt more than friendship for the one - Harry Potter - that he was attempting to Turn, so he wondered at Draco's words, but decided not to pry as yet. There would be time for questions and answers later, especially about how the boy who was supposed to save the magical world from the man who styled himself as 'Voldemort' had almost been killed - would have been, had he not come upon the scene. Word of the lad had filtered down to almost all of the intelligent 'creatures' of the magical world (meaning all that weren't fully human).

"I'll need to stay with him for some weeks," Mardling stated matter-of-factly, "so I'll explain, if it becomes necessary. Is Dumbledore still the headmaster there?" he inquired, scooping Harry up into his arms.

Draco nodded.

"I had heard he had ascended to that position," the man remarked, taking his first strides, but not in the direction of the school.

Mardling was evidently much older than he looked, Draco mused.

"Well come along, boy," Mardling ordered. "I doubt you want to explain why you came back without Mister Potter, here."

Draco looked up, startled. "Where are you taking him?" he asked fretfully. When he received no answer from the retreating form carrying Harry, Draco scurried after him. The dhampyre was right; he didn't even want to _contemplate_ trying to answer those questions. He could imagine it:

_"You were seen going into the Forbidden Forest - an offense in itself - close on Mister Potter's heels. Where is he?"_

Then he'd tell what happened, only to be met with disbelief.

_"A dhampyre, Mister Malfoy? Legend only - there haven't been any dhampyre for centuries. I submit that it is far more likely that you have finally gained the revenge you've saught for years, and either killed Mister Potter yourself, or turned him over to Voldemort."_

And what could he say to that? That he'd secretly loved the green-eyed prat for over a year? He'd be laughed right into the deepest cell in Azkaban. His father's death? Why, he must have been caught in the crossfire while capturing Harry, or killed by Harry in self-defense before he'd been whisked off.

No, Draco was in an entirely untenable position unless he showed up with a live Harry Potter. Er... At least an undead Harry Potter - who could explain what happened himself.

* * *

Harry woke slowly, his whole body aching slightly. He opened his eyes, expecting to see either the too-familiar ceiling of Hogwarts' hospital ward, or to still be in the forest. What he _did _see was the canopy of a bed, and not one done in Hogwarts colours. It was a rich, shimmery, reddish-brown material. Before he could note much of anything else, a voice spoke up.

"Ah, I see you have awakened. How are you feeling?"

Since he'd been asked, Harry took stock. Something seemed... off; and he couldn't move. Had he been hexed? Was this man a Death Eater after all? Well, since he was essentially helpless at the moment he'd keep his suspicions to himself, and try to fish for some information.

"Strange," Harry replied. "But I suppose I should be grateful for being alive. Thank you, Mister...?"

"Lord Hopplyn; Jonathon Mardling," the man replied.

Harry nodded. "I'd greet you properly, but I can't seem to move," Harry said, trying to keep the accusation he was feeling out of his voice.

"That is natural for one who has gone through the transition, and will pass shortly," Mardling reassured him.

"Transition? What sort of transition?"

"In order to save your life, I'm afraid I had to Turn you."

"Into what?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Ah. That is the question, is it not? Tell me, Mister Potter; have you heard of dhampyre? Daywalkers?"

Harry frowned. "Vampires?"

"Of a sort, yes."

Harry's expression turned to one of horror. "I'm a vampire?"

"As I said, Mister Potter - of a sort. Daywalkers are-"

"How dare you?" Harry yelled in outraged indignation.

"You agreed to it, sir," Mardling remonstrated, sounding affronted.

"I did no such thing!" Harry denied.

"Do you recall agreeing to accept life from me?"

That question brought Harry up short. He wanted to deny it, now that he knew to what he had agreed. "I didn't know this was what you meant," he quarelled.

"Depereo kills more slowly than the Killing Curse, but just as surely," Harry was informed.

Harry turned his head away, his emotions conflicting. He in no way wanted to be a dark creature, but he wanted to die even less.

While Harry was lost in the effort of sorting out his thoughts and emotions, Lord Hopplyn went to the dark oak door, then across the hall, where he knocked on an identical door.

"Mister Malfoy? Your friend is awake, and will need you soon."

While Harry was lying in a comatose state that was so close to death as to make no difference as his body changed, becoming a dhampyre, Draco's body had also been undergoing a transformation, although of a far lesser magnititude. His body was now uniquely equiped to serve Harry as a food source without putting a strain on it. Harry could almost drain him without damage to Draco, although he would likely lapse into a deep sleep while his body replenished his blood supply. His body would hardly notice a normal feeding.

When Draco walked into Harry's room, Harry sat up straight, his paralysis suddenly gone as his eyes fixed on the platinum blond. Harry noticed Draco's nervousness and constant glances at Jonathon for reassurance, but he was mostly aware of his hunger and thirst. Secondarily was an instinct to not scare or harm this young man before him. In the back of his mind he wondered why he should care: but there it was.

"Mister Potter." The man's voice commanded Harry's attention. When he looked at him, Mardling continued.

"Mister Malfoy is your Donor. That means that he is capable of providing the blood you now need without harm to himself. Be gentle, and don't allow your excitement to lead you to take more than you need. Stay aware of the hunger. When it is sated, stop. You won't need much. The Dhampyre need far less than the common vampire."

Harry nodded. He was of two minds on this subject. On the one hand he was a bit sickened by the thought of drinking blood - of feeding off of another human being. A frown flitted briefly over his face as he recalled that he wasn't exactly human any longer. But his hunger called. That was the other thing. He needed something, and although Mardling could provide it, he sensed that the blond was a far better choice. Who had his sire said it was? Harry shook his head, ridding himself of the unnecessary thought. He was hungry, and the blond was food - and something more, though he couldn't figure out what. But he was food that belonged to him, and that he mustn't harm.

Mardling gestured to the Slytherin, and Draco gingerly sat on the edge of the bed Harry was on. His every nerve was thrumming, and his instincts were telling him to run screaming. But in the time that Harry's body was transforming from human to dhampyre, Lord Hopplyn had carefully instructed Draco on his duties as a Donor, and had lightly skimmed over the plusses and minuses of becoming a Companion, should that relationship develop.

Harry reached for him and drew him down, one hand at the base of Draco's head, tangled in the blond hair, the other clutching Draco's biceps. Draco felt the pain of Harry's new teeth parting the skin of his neck, but that quickly faded, washed away by a wave of pleasure. When Harry pulled away almost a minute later, licking the wounds to heal them, Draco was embarrassed to note that he was hard and very close to ejaculation.

Harry noticed it too. He cupped Draco's bollocks through the blond's robes, gave a light squeeze, and whispered "Come for me," in Draco's ear.

Whether it was the squeeze, the sexy tone of voice, or both, Draco lost control, and felt himself orgasm. "Bloody hell, Potter," Draco groaned when he'd recovered. If he weren't so afraid of what Potter had become, he'd be furious. As it was, he felt totally humiliated.

"Mm... So good," Harry moaned as he alternately licked and sucked on Draco's earlobe. Now that one hunger was sated, he was aware of another.

"Get off me, Potter," Draco tried to growl, but he made no move to stop the new dhampyre.

Harry froze. "Malfoy?"

"Who the hell did you _think_ you were sucking on?" was the acerbic rejoinder.

That question applied in so many different ways, Harry wasn't sure which one Malfoy meant; the neck? Ear? Where he had been planning on going next? He slowly pulled away from the other boy, afraid that any sudden movement would trigger... something. Probably something unpleasant.

Malfoy's face was blazing, but it seemed to be as much from embarrassment as anger. And Harry remembered what he'd done. A quick glance at the blond's crotch showed a rather large... moist spot showing through the material.

Draco noticed. "Proud of yourself, Potter?" he said mockingly.

To his own surprise, Harry found that he was. And although he was a bit embarrassed, he was emboldened enough to say, "I'm happy to have given you pleasure, although I'm sorry about your clothes."

Draco was so taken off-guard by that reply that, for once, he was speechless.

* * *

*Depereo - Latin for 'to perish, be utterly ruined'. Not as magically taxing as 'Avada Kadavra', and can take anywhere from a quarter hour up to a full day to kill, depending both on the strength of the caster and the victim, while leaving the victim weak and almost powerless.


	2. Kai

_KAI_

by Draeconin Istraith

An Original Work

The boy stood, in shock.

His town, only just big enough to avoid the label of 'village', had mustered everyone capable of wielding a sword, no matter how ineptly, to stand against the invaders. And he, not having yet seen his fifteenth year, though the date of his birth was close at hand, had been handed a sword and a wooden shield, and told to go stand in line 'with the other soldiers'.

Only Kai wasn't a soldier; he was a quiet, scholarly boy. He was strong because everyone must work to support the village, but his strength wasn't expressed in muscle mass, but in his muscles becoming more dense. As a result, many thought him weaker than he was. He was put to work in the fields tending food plants, or goats, or pumping the bellows for the forge, or any of dozens of other tasks that needed doing. But in those times when he had no work assigned to him, apart from the occasional time he spent swimming or walking in the woods, he had read, and studied.

Yes, Kai was a loner, but not entirely by choice. After the rest of his family had died of a mysterious illness, Kai was considered 'marked by the fates'. It didn't help that there was an indefinable quality to him that somehow said 'different', causing the other boys to avoid his company.

The battle hadn't gone well. The town militia and townsmen had made a good showing for themselves, but were simply overwhelmed by superior training and numbers.

The battlefield was now empty, only a few human scavengers moving about around the outskirts of it, looting the dead and finishing off those too badly wounded to survive. The sun beat down hotly on the scene, flies buzzing around, the stench of blood, urine and feces filling the air, and Kai, somehow the only 'soldier' left standing. His skin and shoulder-length dark hair were liberally coated with blood, as was what was left of his tunic and sandals, only a little of which was his own from minor cuts.

The top of his tunic had been torn from his shoulder during the battle, and he was now bare from the waist up. He had lost his shield sometime in the melee, and now held only the sword that had been issued to him dangling limply from his fist.

A small group of horsemen made their way toward him, over the dead. The leader of the group, Kai assumed by his dress, a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, spoke to him.

"Drop your sword, boy, and no harm will come to you."

Kai hadn't moved at their approach anyway. Now he opened his hand, though it took an effort of will since it seemed his fingers had almost frozen in their grip on the hilt, and let the sword fall. He was too tired, too exhausted to try to fight, and one boy on foot didn't stand a chance against a group of well-armed horsemen. Resistance would be suicide, and despite Kai's shock and depression, he wasn't ready to die, yet.

One of the other horsemen dismounted and approached him, circling the boy once to ascertain his injuries. Once he was sure Kai's hurts were minor, he grabbed one of Kai's hands and slipped a loop of thong over it, then tightly lashed his other hand to it.

"Not so tightly, Gand," the leader admonished. "You'll cut off the circulation, and he'll need his hands, later."

"Yes, sir," the man replied with resentment in his voice. The boy had fought against them; killed at least a couple of good men, though the gods only knew how, with the awful flailing he had used: no training or style at all. He deserved to lose his hands! Nevertheless he followed his orders and loosened the bonds enough to allow blood to flow, then mounted his horse and yanked the boy up over his horse' withers.

The leader brought his horse over to Gand.

"Give me the boy," he ordered. When the horseman known as Gand had complied, the leader said, "We are Observers. If you've lost so much objectivity that you would mistreat an unarmed boy who offers no fight, perhaps you would do better as a scribe."

Gand glared at his group leader, Pinr, then silently dropped his eyes and bowed his head, accepting the reprimand.

Sometime later that day they stopped by the side of a creek, and Kai was allowed - indeed, had been ordered - to wash the sweat and blood off himself and his sandals, but he was given no chance to run. His tunic was a total loss, and the spare tossed him by the smallest of the group still was much too large.

"What's your name, boy?" Pinr asked.

Kai didn't look up, but gave the man his name.

"Well, Kai, do you know who we are?"

Kai shook his head. He had heard the man call them all 'observers', but he had a pressing question to which he wanted the answer.

"What are you going to do with me?" Kai asked.

"We are called 'Observers'," Pinr said, ignoring Kai's question. "We are the keepers of history, taking part in no conflicts, owing allegiance to none, and not interfering in any way. In this way all can know that the tales they hear from us are naught but the truth, influenced by no loyalties or preconceptions."

Kai glanced at Gand.

"He was once a countryman of those you fought. It was, perhaps, a mistake to send him with us for this," Pinr said in response. "We are taught to leave all ties behind, but it seems such teachings did not take as well as it might, with him."

"Where are you taking me?" Kai asked, trying again to gain some information.

"Where you can be taught," Pinr answered obliquely.

And although Kai asked more questions, they were not answered. Still, he now knew that whatever they planned to do with him, he would live. _What_ he would be taught was a subject that rather worried him, however. He hoped he wasn't to be trained as a slave or pleasure boy.

The men treated him well over the next fifteen days of travel, even Gand's ire dissipating after a couple of days. Kai was given the same portions to eat as everyone else, a spare blanket was found for him to sleep in at night, and he was not approached for the pleasure of any. At the same time he was given no answers to his questions, and he was watched closely. He was given no chance to escape.

Although Kai had heard of the mountains, he had never seen them, having never gone more than a day's travel from the village. But now, two weeks into their travel, they were high up into the mountains, craggy cliffs rising about them. A heavy woolen cloak had been bought for him in the last village they'd passed through before reaching the mountains, else Kai would have been miserable with the cold at night, although the days were mostly comfortably warm.

On their last day of travel Pinr guided them to the narrow entrance of an offshoot of the canyon they had been following for the last two days. It was so narrow that they had to dismount their horses and lead them through. A hundred yards of twisting passageway later the side canyon opened out, but was still narrow, being only about twenty yards wide at its widest, ten to fifteen yards in width being a rough average. Boulders of every shape and size littered the canyon floor. Vegetation was limited to small plants and tough, woody bushes, but there was a path through it all, proving that this way was used fairly regularly.

They were about three-quarters of the way along its length when they again stopped and dismounted, then led their horses into a mass of boulders that didn't look any different than any of the many others they had passed. But there was a narrow passage through them that ended at the entrance to a cave that was just tall and wide enough to allow a mounted man through, if he was crouching on the horse. But nobody remounted, and they continued to lead their horses into the cave. A torch was lit, and they wound their way deeper into it, ignoring the occasional offshoot.

Eventually they _did_ take a left into an offshoot whose entrance looked as though the stone had melted at one point before setting up again. A hundred yards down this passage was a black wall about five feet wide and seven feet in height. Only even the blackest wall will reflect a little light if there's any present, and this one didn't. Pinr spoke a few words that Kai didn't understand, causing the edges of the wall to briefly glow a dull red before settling into a dim grey shimmer. The rest of the wall remained that empty black color. And then Pinr, leading his horse, walked into the wall and disappeared!

Kai panicked as the next man went into the wall with the same results. Gand took great pleasure in slowly forcing Kai towards the wall as Kai became more and more afraid, before thrusting him into it. Although the others looked at him disapprovingly, they didn't say anything.

o~*~o

The 'black wall' turned out to be a portal and nothing to be afraid of, though Kai had no way of knowing that, nor had he ever even heard of such a thing. Gand's last-minute cruelty worked against him, however, and he did wind up being demoted to scribe status. An Observer had to remain impartial, and Gand had proven he couldn't.

Kai, on the other hand, was handed off to servants who bathed him, fed him, and tended to his hurts, then was taken to a room that housed five other boys. The next day he was taken to a room full of _many_ other boys and introduced to a man there who turned out to be a teacher. For the next three weeks Kai was given an intensive education in how to behave in the society he and other boys would now be living in; how to tell a merchant from a stall keeper, a farmer from a herder, the ranks of every member of society from the highest to the lowest, and how to act in, and react to their presence, whether lower on the social scale, or equals or superiors.

When a boy could prove he knew how to behave in their society, no matter how short or long a time it took, he was taken to learn the skills he would need to know in order to make himself useful in it, and wasn't seen there again.

When Kai's turn came he was taken to another building in the same complex. The simple cotton shift he had been wearing was replaced with a sleeveless, light gray, fine lamb's wool garment that, when worn properly, came down only to mid-thigh. He still had the heavy cloak that had been bought for him by Pinr, though, so he wasn't worried about the weather, if it turned cold.

In his new quarters Kai found that he had his own room, and had a servant that was shared between him and three others. The servant was not a personal servant however, but only took care of cleaning and maintaining the boys' rooms, and making sure that their clothing and bedding was clean and in good repair. Such a servant was needed because the boys were kept busy fourteen out of sixteen hours, being allowed half an hour per meal, and half an hour for anything else that needed doing - more, if they were willing to take it out of their sleep time.

Kai was assigned to a teacher who only had two other students. What he would be learning came as a great shock to Kai. He was to be a mage. It was his ability to tap the power called magic that had allowed him to survive the battle his town had been involved in with so few wounds, and those minor, even if he wasn't aware of manipulating the energy at the time. In fact his being relatively unharmed when all around him had died, had shown he had quite a strong affinity and ability with it.

As the 'new boy' it was Kai's duty at the end of the day to scrub out the pots, cauldrons, alembics, mortars, and any other equipment that got used, and then sweep the room before he was allowed to get his evening meal. Often in those first weeks Kai ate his evening meals cold, but he was never made to go hungry.

Eventually though, Kai learned enough to open and tap his power centers. The first thing he made sure to do, predictably enough, was find a way to use that power to help with his cleaning chores. His meals tasted much better at the temperature they were supposed to be.

o~*~o

About five weeks after that, when Kai showed up for another day of instruction, he found only his teacher, the other two boys being absent. He was told to go take a thorough bath, including making sure his hair was clean, then get dressed in the tunic he'd find on his bed. The instructions, except for the tunic, weren't needed. Kai bathed a minimum of three times a week: more often if he had the time and energy. Back home he'd swum, or at least submerged himself in a deep spot in the nearby stream every night to remove the dirt and sweat accumulated during the day.

The bathing pool was fed by a natural hot springs and was irregularly shaped, but was approximately ten feet wide, seven feet long, and four feet deep, with a sandy bottom. It seemed likely that the building had been built around it.

Kai, along with the five other boys who were there, all approximately his own age, used a rather slimey substance made from animal fat and the concentrated, strained water from boiled ashes to wash his hair. Then after scooping some sand from the bottom of the pool and mixing more of the cleansing slime with that, he stepped out of the pool and used the mixture to wash his body, which was only now sprouting pubic hair - the only other body hair he had being on his head. He used some more of the unsanded slime to wash his genitals and crack, then stepped back into the pool to rinse it all off.

Once dried with a rough linen towel, he dressed again in his shift and made his way to his room. There he found a white cotton shift on his bed, one short sleeve of which was dyed a dark blue. He dressed in it, tied the waist with the thin, white cotton rope that was provided, and not knowing what else to do, made his way back to his teacher.

The other, older boys still weren't there, but Kai's teacher was waiting for him, and escorted him to a building he'd never been to before. They wound up in a room that was about forty feet on a side, and had several lines of boys about Kai's own age standing there. The lines were about six feet apart, and each boy in line stood about two feet from each other. Kai was placed in the third row back, and told to stand relaxed, but to keep quiet. Kai's teacher then went and stood against the wall with those others who had been previously chosen as witnesses.

Kai wasn't the last boy to get there, but there were only five or six more before they stopped coming. Kai was curious, and a little nervous. He had absolutely no idea why he was there, or what was going on. Why hadn't his teacher's other students had to come? Had he failed some test he hadn't known was being given? Was he about to be transferred to another kind of training? It wouldn't surprise him. He still couldn't see himself as a mage. It seemed a ridiculous idea, even though he _had_ managed to use a little magic to help him with his chores.

A door opened at the front of the room and to the right; a door that Kai hadn't noticed before because a tapestry had been hanging over it, hiding it. Two men in light blue robes stepped through, their heads shaved. They stepped one to each side of the doorway, and a boy with long, dark blond hair in a mid-calf-length, purplish-blue robe came through behind them, with two more shave-headed men behind him. Those two stayed behind the boy as he arrogantly stalked towards the first line of boys. At the same time, he looked rather bored.

"No - no - no... no - no - yes..." The blond, who looked to be a little younger than Kai, was walking by the boys in line. Those whom he pointed to with a 'no' were told by the men following him to go back to their teachers. The few he said 'yes' about were told to stay where they were.

Kai later found out that the ones the boy chose were put into a temporary 'harem', and served for anywhere from three to six months before they went back to finish their original training. It didn't matter whether J'lal, the blond, used them or not, as long as the harem existed. Truth be told, J'lal _had_ made use of his harem, but not often. He had no wish to bed females, but he found little more than physical release with those boys. He chose them because they appealed to him, but... still the experience left him feeling empty.

As J'lal looked Kai in the eyes, he had a feeling that was about to change - and that was a vast understatement. He had always been pampered and catered to, and had taken his power over others for granted. This dark-haired boy's eyes had sucked that power from him, leaving him for the first time with the need to submit himself to another. With a great effort of will he hid his reaction, but it was a strain which he wasn't sure he could maintain.

"Tell them all to go; all but this one," J'lal told his attendants.

That announcement had varying degrees of surprise appear on the face of every witness there.

Kai had felt the connection when J'lal had met his eyes, and for the first time in his life he had an uncontrollable sexual response to someone else. Oh, he had admired both men and boys, and despaired over his lack of response to females. He had fantasized about this man or that boy as he pleasured himself, but in their presence he had always been able to control his response - until now.

Addressing Kai, J'lal said, "Follow me." With those words, he turned and strode towards the door he had come in by without looking back, sure he would be obeyed.

Kai shot a half-panicked look at his teacher, who gestured that Kai should go with the boy. Troubled and unsure of himself, Kai obeyed.

It was good he had, for J'lal's attendants had been about to forcefully carry out his orders, and would have tied Kai up and carried him to the boy if it had been necessary. They followed closely behind him to protect the other boy, for even now it was possible, in their minds, that Kai would attack J'lal.

The halls and stairs they traversed had a richly decorated carpet running down the middle of them, bare marble floors to either side of it. Tapestries were interspersed with rich drapes and torches. J'lal didn't look back once, which Kai was almost grateful for. Not only would it have heightened his nervousness, but J'lal's looking back might have caught Kai's eyes returning their attention all too often to J'lal's buttocks.

Copyright © 2006 by Shamyn Whitehawk


	3. Five Minutes Prologue

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

**Prologue**

"Is it done?" Narcissa asked.

"Yes," her companion replied. "It's too late for second thoughts."

"I wasn't having any," the blonde woman protested. At a doubtful glance from the woman with her, she confessed. "All right, yes. But you're right; it's too late for second thoughts."

Looking down at the infants, she couldn't help but voice her doubts, however. "I don't believe our husbands will thank us for this, though."

"With any luck, they'll never find out," was the reply. The redhead looked closely at her friend. "It's the best protection we can give them, Cissy. No matter who wins, our sons will have connexions with the opposite camp."

"I know," Narcissa fretted, "but a soul bond?"

"I know," her friend said compassionately, "but a life bond was too risky, and a heart bond would have forced them into a relationship they might not be suited for."

"And if they are? If they... do?"

"You were the one who told me, Cissy, so why are you fretting? Unless... You didn't lie to me, did you?" Lily Potter demanded.

"No!" Narcissa protested. "I had Draco checked by three different medi-witches. If... If it happens, and your Harry is as magically strong as predicted... "

"Draco _could_, then?"

"Yes."

"Good, then... _Obliviate."_

_'I'm sorry, Cissy,'_ Lily thought, _'but the fewer who know about this, the better.'_

-1-


	4. Five Minutes: 1

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

**E-Mail: **draeconin at gmail dot com  
**Rating:** Adult (eventually)  
**Pairing: **Harry/Draco  
**Spoilers:** Yep.  
**Warnings:** AU, m/m, language  
**Disclaimer:**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The story is mine, and if you don't recognize it, it's mine. Everything else belongs to the copyright holders. This disclaimer applies to all following chapters.  
**Summary:** Five minutes can change the future. A mishap makes Harry miss the Weasleys in his first year.

**Chapter One**

Hagrid had just left him there at King's Cross Station with directions to go to Platform 9 ¾, then disappeared into the crowd. Unfortunately Harry was so unfamiliar with the baggage trolleys that he'd almost immediately overset it. He reloaded it as quickly as he could, of course - a matter of about five minutes due to the weight of the trunk, which was quite heavy for a malnourished eleven-year-old boy, and then he started searching for the platform he needed. He got to Platform 9 and was well on his way to Platform 10 when he saw the blond boy he'd met in Madam Malkin's stride briskly towards the brick barrier between platforms nine and ten - and walk into it, disappearing from sight. He then saw a blonde woman, presumably the boy's mother, take a quick look around, then walk into the same barrier as well, also vanishing.

This had to be magic. Harry gripped the handle of his cart, looked around to make sure nobody was looking his way, grit his teeth, and ran his cart at the barrier, fully expecting to be brought to a crashing halt. But it didn't happen, and he only just prevented his trolley from crashing into the blonde woman.

"I do beg your forgiveness, ma'am," Harry apologised, for the near miss. "Only it's my first time, you see, and I didn't know what to expect."

The lady looked him up and down, and frowned slightly at his scruffy appearance. "And you are?" she inquired, with just a hint of frost in her voice.

"Harry Potter, ma'am. And I'm sorry to have almost run into you," Harry replied.

'_**This**__ is Harry Potter? At least he has manners,_' she thought, as she took a closer look. Although a good looking boy, her first impression was, unfortunately, only reinforced. The boy had black hair that looked as though a mad hedge clipper had a go at it, and wore round, 'granny' style glasses. He was far too thin, as though he never got enough to eat, and his habiliments looked made for someone over twice his size, and second hand at that.

But maybe the boy had no choice? For a boy who, as a baby, had enough power to survive the Killing Curse, she was trying hard to find reason to excuse his appearance, all thoughts of the boy's carelessness forgotten. He was, after all, Lily's child.

"That's the boy I was telling you of, Mother: the one from the robe shop." The boy from Madam Malkin's had returned to find out what was delaying his mother, and now shot a shy smile at Harry: but it was only momentary, until he remembered himself and adopted a more aristocratic demeanour.

The woman gave Harry a condescending smile and held out one gloved hand. "Narcissa Malfoy," she said, introducing herself.

"Happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, politely taking her hand, then releasing it. He then looked questioningly at the blond boy.

"My son, Draco Malfoy," she said, introducing them. "Draco, this is Harry Potter."

Harry frowned a bit at the boy.

"Is something amiss?" Mrs Malfoy asked.

Harry almost told a polite lie, then decided to be frank. "I'm afraid your son insulted a friend of mine, ma'am."

Narcissa looked at her son. "Is this true, Draco?"

The blond boy looked confused for a moment, then defensive as he recalled the incident. "He was a giant, Mother!" Draco replied, defending himself.

"I like Hagrid!" Harry retorted.

"Rubeus Hagrid?" Narcissa inquired, one eyebrow raising slightly.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied.

Draco looked up at his mother, surprised that she should know such a person.

"He's Hogwarts' groundskeeper, Draco: a kindly person, and only a half-giant," the woman told her son. "Did he give you reason to insult him?"

"He's _enormous!_ And have you seen how he dresses?" Draco replied, eyes wide, as though that were reason enough. "And you know what father says about him," he added.

Draco had made the mistake of repeating his father's words to Harry: _"I heard he's a sort of _savage _- lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."_

Mrs Malfoy sighed. "I'm afraid Draco has led something of a sheltered life, Mister Potter. I do apologise for him." It would have been impolite to blame Draco's attitudes on his father, although that was indeed the case. However one did not air family differences in public, or to outsiders - and Harry, despite being Lily's son, was definitely an outsider. His poor upbringing made sure of that. However, he still deserved to be given some leeway until his qualities were known.

Draco looked at his mother in astonishment, then tinted when she gave him a mild look of disapproval. He knew what was expected of him.

"I'm sorry to have... insulted your friend, Mister Potter," he said.

"Always know _who_ a person is, as well as what that person is before you make judgments, Draco," Narcissa instructed, a hint of iron in her voice.

Correcting one's progeny in public was quite all right, however. It showed that you were a good parent.

"Yes, Mother," Draco replied, before turning his attention back to Harry.

"It was a grievous error on my part," he said apologetically. "I apologise, and would like the chance to begin again," he said, holding out his hand.

Harry eyed the blond boy dubiously, but the apology seemed genuine. He smiled tentatively and took the blond's hand. "You may call me 'Harry'," he said, making a split-second decision. This Malfoy boy seemed nice enough, when he wasn't putting on airs.

"And I'd be honoured to have you call me 'Draco'," the lad replied.

Harry liked the feeling he got when he took the blond's hand. It was warm, and tingled just a bit. Draco must have liked it too, because it wasn't until Mrs Malfoy cleared her throat and said, "You really should be boarding the train, dear. It will be leaving soon, and Mister Potter will need to have his trunk loaded," that they came to themselves. When they realised they'd been holding hands quite a bit longer than was called for, both boys' faces turned pink.

When Harry had difficulty getting Hedwig and his trunk onto the train, Narcissa put a lightening charm on the trunk. Harry was very surprised when it seemed he'd suddenly become quite a bit stronger. Draco even unbent enough to help Harry with Hedwig's cage. "She's quite beautiful, if a bit showy," was his opinion.

"Hagrid bought her for me. Do you have a pet or familiar?" Harry asked, curious.

"My father doesn't believe in personal owls," was the oblique response. "We have several owls that belong to the manor. One of those, an eagle owl, is assigned to my use while I'm at school."

Draco's tone was very matter-of-fact, but Harry thought he detected a bit of sadness in the statements. He decided not to embarrass his new friend by asking further.

Draco returned to the platform to give his mother a polite hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek in parting, then returned to help Harry.

Seeing the affection between the two, if very restrainedly displayed, caused a welling of sadness in Harry's heart - a sadness that Draco discerned before Harry could hide it. Draco was going to find out why his newly-made friend was sad, of course, but not here in the train aisle. He was quite used to hiding his own emotions, so he gave Harry a big grin as they started off to find an empty compartment.

Soon after they settled in, two very large boys showed up. They scowled at Harry.

"Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, I'd like you to meet my new friend, Harry Potter," Draco said, making introductions.

The scowls didn't change.

"I said he's a friend, you idiots!" Draco snapped out.

Harry's eyebrows rose a bit, but he didn't say anything, letting Draco handle these people, whom he obviously knew.

The boys looked at Draco questioningly. The blond nodded. They relaxed.

"Sorry about that, Potter," Crabbe said.

"Only we've instructions," Goyle added.

"All right. Nice to make your acquaintance," Harry replied, shaking hands with them as he wondered... 'Instructions'?

"They're all right sorts, but have to act the bodyguards," Draco informed Harry.

Harry's eyebrows rose again at that information. This boy needed bodyguards? Why? Was he the son of someone important? But that was something he decided to wait to ask at another time. He'd have wondered at boys their own age acting as bodyguards, but realised that it would hardly be possible for adult bodyguards to live at a boarding school. Still, it _was_ strange.

"Okay, you've done your duty," Draco said in a bored tone, while making 'shooing' gestures with his hands.

The large boys frowned a bit at that, but obediently went to a compartment across the way, ejected the other children who'd been there, then sat down to watch Harry and Draco's compartment.

"If they're here to protect you, shouldn't you be nicer to them?" Harry asked.

"Why?" Draco asked, perplexed.

"Maybe so they'll _want_ to protect you?" Harry said, with a perplexed frown of his own.

Draco shrugged. "If they don't, my father will get their fathers to punish them," he said, as if it was of no importance at all.

'_Spoiled,_' Harry thought, and wondered if he'd made a good decision to befriend this boy. Still, Draco was the only person he knew here, and was treating _him_ all right so far. Still a bit troubled, he let it go for now.

Other than a rather pudgy boy and a pretentious, bushy-haired girl looking for a toad, and the advent of a witch pushing a tea cart down the aisles loaded with all sorts of treats of which Harry had never heard, the ride to Hogwarts was uneventful.

Harry had been quite hungry, so had asked for "a bit of everything" from the treat cart, for which he paid a bit over eleven sickles. Draco helped him when it became obvious that Harry had absolutely no idea which coins were which. Harry handed the lady a Galleon after Draco told him that the cost was about two-thirds of that.

Harry offered to share, and after hesitating, Draco accepted. He wasn't really hungry, but he would have forced Harry into a rudeness, if the dark-haired boy then ate in front of him.

While they ate, and drank pumpkin juice, a strange beverage that Harry finally decided wasn't half bad, Draco learnt a lot about his companion, and his circumstances before now. It wasn't so much what Harry said as what he avoided saying that gave it away, although he did slip once and refer to being 'sent to my cupboard'. It was an extremely hard concept for Draco to wrap his mind around, but this boy, the hero of the wizarding world, the 'Boy Who Lived', had actually seemed to have had a very spartan, unhappy childhood. Judging by how thin and pale Harry was, and how much he had eaten, he hadn't been fed well, either.

Draco himself was naturally slender. He ate well, but not overly much. When he was full, he quit eating, no matter what was left on his plate. That Harry most likely had never had that option disturbed the other boy. That he hadn't remembered from the stories he'd been told that Harry's parents had been killed, and that Harry's sadness at the station had likely been from wishing he could have had a parting hug with his own parents, disturbed him more.

The blond had no experience with caring about people outside his immediate family, but he was learning.

A comfortable silence ensued, and a short while later Draco discovered that his new friend had nodded off, so he sat and watched the scenery pass by.

Of a sudden there was a pounding on their cubicle door, then it slid open and a voice shouted, "Hey, you lot! Hogwarts in twenty! You'll need your robes on, so look smart!"

Somewhere in there, Draco had fallen asleep as well. That must have been a prefect at the door. He'd been told of them. Looking over at the beautiful, though too thin dark-haired boy, he was just in time to see Harry recovering from a look of fear. He frowned. He'd have expected Harry to be just as startled as he had been, but his look had been more akin to terror than mere startlement.

"Your aunt and uncle," Draco ventured, "they didn't much care for you, did they?" He had a feeling that was a vast understatement.

Harry blushed and dropped his head to hide his eyes, but shook his head 'no'. It was a small movement, but enough. Harry wasn't going to lie to his new friend, but he really wished the boy hadn't asked. He didn't want to be pitied. This was his chance at a new start, and he just wanted to forget _them_. Hopefully he'd never have to go back. Surely if he explained his situation, he could stay elsewhere?

Harry raised his head, looking into Draco's light-gray eyes. "Don't tell anyone, will you? I'd rather forget about all that."

Draco slowly nodded his acquiescence. The implications of Harry's situation were almost frightening.

Their robes on, it wasn't much longer before the train chuffed to a stop. Odd, really, since the train was a magical artifact and didn't use coal or other fuels, and wasn't nearly as mechanical as it looked.

As they debarked, Harry heard Hagrid calling "Firs' Years! Firs' Years, this way!"

Harry's first reaction was joy in anticipation of seeing the kind-hearted half-giant again. His second was trepidation, wondering if Draco would still be dismissive of him. He needn't have worried.

Harry grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him along behind him until he was standing in front of Hagrid.

"Hello, Hagrid!" Harry said with a grin. "I'd like you to meet my new friend, Draco Malfoy!"

Although Hagrid's answering grin didn't go away completely at that introduction, it did diminish considerably. "A Malfoy, eh?" he said amiably enough. "Well hopefully our Harry, here, will be a good influence on yeh."

Harry frowned. What was wrong with being a Malfoy? Draco-

The blond's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hopefully we shall benefit each other, sir." Draco's voice was civil, if somewhat cool and strained.

Harry was proud of him. Hagrid had given him cause to sling a few verbal barbs, and Draco had refrained from doing so. He squeezed the hand he was still holding and smiled his approval. Draco looked back at him, his eyes cold, then reluctantly smiled back, his eyes thawing as well.

"Tha' shall be as it will," the big man said. "Now in the boats wi' yeh. We're runnin' a bit late."

Hagrid's voice rose as he addressed the small crowd of children that was gathering. "Firs' Years, to me! Four to a boat, please, an' be careful yeh don't spill out!"

Harry looked around and saw the bushy-haired girl again. The pudgy boy with the toad was there too, as well as a rather loud red-headed boy who was expounding on what his brothers had told him of the school. Crabbe and Goyle were only a couple of metres away, trying to be surreptitious while doing their job, and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Draco sneered at the redheaded boy's poor social presence. "That has to be a Weasley," the blond said snidely, nodding at the redhead. "More children than sense or money, my father says."

"Draco...," Harry said in a warning tone of voice, "you're not going to judge him before you even know him, are you? Being poor isn't a crime."

"Having more children than you can afford should be," Draco muttered, but he backed off.

"That's hardly _his_ fault," Harry replied. He wanted to say something else, but he didn't quite know how to put it in words so he let the subject go, turning to more immediate concerns.

"Come on; let's find a boat," he said.

Draco was thankful that Harry had dropped the subject. Really, he hadn't meant anything with his first remarks about the redhead; he was just _saying_. He had to defend himself when Harry twitted him for it, though.

He hadn't realised that they'd been holding hands so long until Harry let go of his to climb carefully into one of the many boats strung out along the shore. They had actually steadied each other down the steep slope to the lake. Draco emulated Harry's care as he, too, climbed in and sat next to his new friend. The bushy-haired girl and a sandy-haired Irish boy (it was obvious from his accent) climbed into the same boat. Harry saw Gregory and Vincent get into the one behind them. They were too large to fit more than two to a boat, unless any others were very small, indeed.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, introducing himself to their new companions.

"Hermione Granger," the bushy-haired girl responded. Her eyes brightened though, as she recognised the name. She had heard on the train that Harry Potter was supposed to be riding it as well, but hadn't thought it would be _this_ boy. To think: she had actually talked to him, and not known.

"Seamus Finnigan," replied the Irish boy.

When Draco said nothing, Harry spoke up again. "And this quiet bloke," he said with a smile, "is Draco Malfoy."

Immediately Seamus' face registered distaste. "Malfoy?" he spat.

Hermione only looked curious.

Harry frowned. First Hagrid, and now this boy? "Yes, and he's my friend; so if you have a problem with him, you have a problem with me," he said firmly.

Draco looked at him, surprised that he'd be defended. He felt a warmth in his heart he'd never felt before, and his cheeks felt a bit warm as well.

"You did say 'Harry Potter'?" Hermione asked, ignoring the by-play."'The Boy Who Lived' Harry Potter?"

Seamus belatedly realised with whom he was sharing a boat, and his heated reply was cut short before it began. He looked curiously at the blond, wondering what someone with Harry Potter's reputation could see in a Malfoy that was worthy of friendship.

"So I've been told. I wouldn't know," Harry replied with a scowl. "Bloody silly thing to be famous for, not dying. People do it every day, after all - or not, really."

Draco smirked. He fully agreed, but it would be rude to say so. He was glad that the fame hadn't gone to Harry's head, though.

"But you're in 'Hogwarts: A History', and several other books as well! You killed the Dark Lord!" the girl gushed.

"I was fourteen months old!" Harry protested. "How could I kill _anyone?_" He'd had time to think about this since Hagrid had given him the outline of his history. The bushy-haired girl's other statement hadn't gone unnoticed, though. People had _written_ about him? About this? Harry was shocked.

Hermione's reply went unsaid as Hagrid's voice again rang out, demanding attention. "Alrigh' now! Sit still, an' don' be rockin' yer boat. Yer'll see yer first sight o' Hogwarts in a minute. Everyone set? Right, then - **Forward!**"

At that, the boats began to move. Around a short curve of shoreline, and across the lake, Hogwarts came into sight. It was huge, with many towers and crenellations, light filling each window. Harry would later find out that this happened only once a year, to greet the new First Years, but it was quite impressive.

Soon they approached an ivy-covered cliff. "Heads down!" boomed Hagrid's voice.

Seconds later, ivy was trailing over them as they passed through an opening in the cliff face and into a tunnel, which was lit only occasionally by a torch. The boats eventually pulled up alongside a platform from which rose a wide flight of well lit stairs that narrowed as they rose.

"Alrigh', everyone out. Careful, now," the big man's voice called out. "'Ere, now! Who's toad is this?"

Harry waited impatiently for Draco to climb out of the boat, said, "Wait here," to Crabbe and Goyle, who had just wandered up, then pulled Draco to a quiet spot on the landing. He was too curious to wait any longer.

What was more curious was that Crabbe and Goyle listened to him, although the fact never occured to anyone that it shouldn't have happened. They were _Draco's_ bodyguards after all, and they'd hardly even met the dark-haired boy.

"Why does everyone hate you as soon as they hear your name?" Harry's voice was low, but intense with urgent curiosity.

Draco's face immediately closed up. "Why? Thinking of joining the parade?" he asked nastily.

Harry was quite taken aback, recovered quickly.

"I keep my friends," Harry said, his tone almost threatening. _Not that I've had any,_ he thought to himself. But he meant what he said. He wasn't about to abandon a friend without a damned good reason, and maybe not then. He stood there, waiting for an explanation.

Draco's hard exterior softened a bit, but he didn't drop his defences entirely. "They think my father was a Death Eater in the last war," he said.

Now Harry was confused. "What war? World War Two? And what's a death eater?" he asked, envisioning African cannibals. He'd seen pictures once, in an ancient National Geographic®.

"Now if you'll all follow me..." Hagrid called out, striding up the stairs.

"It will have to wait," Draco said perfunctorily, pushing past Harry.

Harry caught him up. "Fine," he said, so only Draco could hear, "but just so you know: I only care what _you're_ like - not your family." Considering his own family, he could do no less for others than he wanted for himself.

Draco shot him a quick look full of hope and doubt. In the circles he was used to, lineage was everything, and it was much easier to be thrown in the gutters than to rise out of them. One's whole family could lose prestige from the actions of one person, no matter how many generations ago. He wanted to believe his father was innocent of the charges levelled at him and everyone else was jealous of Malfoy prestige, but if it wasn't so, his father had played a dangerous game with the family honour.

Hagrid had knocked on the double doors during this time, and they had been opened by an older witch with black hair pulled back into a severe bun who looked to be as hard as nails, and just as unforgiving.

"The new Firs' Years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said to the woman, gesturing towards the small crowd behind him.

The woman's clipped, though mild Scottish accent replied, "Thank you, Hagrid. I shall take them from here."

She turned to the gathered youngsters. "If you will all follow me?" Without a second glance she turned and strode down the long corridor that had been behind her.

Her confidence was justified as, like a flock of sheep, the children poured through the door to follow her: even Draco, though not without a slight sneer, first. After all, what else could they do? There was nowhere else to go unless they wanted to live on the stairs - or worse, brave whatever was in the water while trying to swim out.

They came to another set of double doors where the strict-looking woman again turned, and addressed them. "Wait here. When I return you will be called to be Sorted into the House you will occupy for the rest of your time at Hogwarts. I suggest you make use of this time to make yourselves as presentable as possible." She then slipped through the doors and closed them behind her, leaving the group of eleven-year-olds to their own devices.

"You're a Malfoy, aren't you?" The snide, hateful tone of the question came from the loud red-headed boy. "My father told me all about you lot. I bet you're going to be a Death Eater just like your father."

Draco's form had stiffened after the first three words. Now he turned to face the speaker, his face cold. Looking the redhead up and down, his expression said he'd just seen a particularly disgusting, but uninteresting bit of rubish. "And with all that red hair, and those tatty second-hand robes, you must be a Weasley," Draco said snidely, ignoring Harry's attempts to distract him. "More children than sense or galleons, _I_ hear."

"You needn't sink to his level," Harry hissed in Draco's ear.

The redhead looked about ready to let his fists fly, his face a shade of red that clashed horribly with his hair.

"You're right," Draco replied with a glance at his friend. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time." Unwisely, he turned away from the other boy.

Fortunately for him, the door opened again just as the redhead jumped at him, making Harry's preemptive, though due to his size and physical condition, likely useless move to block the boy, unnecessary.

"_Mis_ter Weasley!" the woman exclaimed loudly. She had picked him out early on. The resemblance was unmistakable, she having taught, or being in the process of teaching most of his other siblings. "What is the meaning of this?"

The red-faced boy had arrested his actions immediately upon hearing the voice of authority, but his fists were still clenched at his sides - and if looks could kill, he would have been on his way to prison. "He insulted my family!" he accused, pointing at Draco.

"Only after you insulted his!" Harry retorted, defending his friend.

Draco was glaring at his 'bodyguards'. Why hadn't they done their job? They were definitely getting an earful when there was time. Belatedly, the two boys moved between he and Harry, and the Weasley boy. The redhead tried to hide his gulp of apprehension, but even the subtle threat of the two large boys' presence didn't seem to lessen his ire.

"We don't have time to sort this out, now. We must get on with the Sorting," Professor McGonagall stated.

There was the sound of someone trying to stifle laughter.

"Is something amusing, Mister..?"

The sandy-haired boy addressed sobered quickly upon being singled out. He swallowed. "Finnigan, ma'am. Seamus Finnigan. It's just - can't sort, because we have to Sort?" By the end of his sentence, the irrepressible Irish lad was grinning, inviting the dour-looking matron to join him.

Despite herself, the corners of Minerva McGonagall's lips twitched before she exerted control of her demeanour again. As the Head of Gryffindor House, she thought this one was likely to be one of hers. "Yes. I see," she said, then addressed the small group in front of her. "However, we shall address this situation after you have been Sorted into your Houses."

"Watch yourself, Malfoy. You won't always have your goons around," the Weasley hissed in a low tone. It wasn't low enough.

"Mister Weasley! You have just given credence to Mister Potter's words," the woman exclaimed.

Ronald Weasley cringed at her tone, then paled as the name registered. "Potter?" he inquired. "Not... _Harry_ Potter?" He knew that if 'The Boy Who Lived' came to Hogwarts they would likely be in the same year, but what a way to meet! He hoped against hope he was wrong.

Harry nodded, dashing that hope. Harry wasn't sure why his name should have made such an impact, despite what he'd been told, but he was glad it had, if it would make this boy leave his friends alone.

"Oh, bugger," Weasley moaned. He'd called the boy one of Malfoy's _goons!_ "And you're _Malfoy's_ friend?"

"Yes, I am," Harry said, defiance in his voice.

Professor McGonagall cut in at that point. She had already allowed too much time to this incident. "Queue up!" she ordered the young people. Harry and Draco made sure to be next each other. When they were all in line she turned, opened both doors dramatically with a wave of her wand, and led them into the Great Hall.

Harry marvelled at the scene. The first thing he noticed was what seemed like hundreds of candles floating in the air. Next was the rows of tables which were mostly filled with young people of both sexes in black robes. At the head of the room was yet another large table at which sat adults of various ages: the teaching and school staff, Harry guessed, which would make that the Head Table. One of them was quite small, though - a midget? And was there a ceiling? Tiny lights in a black background twinkled from above, looking like nothing less than the night sky out of doors

On a stool near the Head Table sat a battered, dirty, worn, poor excuse for a leather wizard's hat.

"Is that it?" Harry whispered to Draco.

"It's likely," the blond replied. It fit his mother's description of it, certainly.

Suddenly a deep crease in the leather hat opened near the brim, becoming mouth-like, and it began to sing.

Draco started snickering at the expression on Harry's face. "You really _were_ raised by Muggles, weren't you?" he whispered gleefully in Harry's ear.

Harry just nodded, still stunned that a _hat_ could do _any_thing, let alone sing!

"Abbot, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall called, when the hat had finished.

The Sorting had begun, and Harry had only a vague idea of what the beat-up old hat had sung.

McGonagall put the hat on the girl's head after she sat on the stool. It was only a moment before the hat cried out "Hufflepuff!" The girl took off the hat, handed it back to the stern-looking woman, and walked happily over to the table under the yellow and black banner picturing a badger.

Name after name was called. Harry didn't even try to remember which name belonged to whom for most of the new pupils, or where they were sorted, until he heard "Finnigan, Seamus!" This was someone whom he knew, at least in passing, from the boat and the incident in the corridor. Seamus was sorted into Gryffindor. Of course there had been Crabbe, Vincent, who had been Sorted into Slytherin, as had Goyle, Gregory, after Finnigan had been Sorted into Gryffindor. And then "Granger, Hermione!" was called.

The hat sat and actually _squirmed_ on the bushy-haired girl's head, sitting there for quite some time before it decided she belonged in "Ravenclaw!"

There were more people he didn't know, and then, "Malfoy, Draco!"

As Draco's name was called there were actually a few boo's and hisses, mostly from the Gryffindor table. Draco ignored them, grinned at Harry, and then turning, his grin morphed into a smirk as he sauntered up to the stool. The hat had no sooner touched Draco's head than it called out, "Slytherin!"

Six First Years later, it was Harry's turn. "Potter, Harry!"

The susurration of whispers died as shock hit the crowd of pupils, then started up again, even louder.

"Potter?"

"_Harry_ Potter? He's really here?"

"Is it really 'The Boy Who Lived'?"

"_That's_ what killed the Dark Lord? Not much to look at, is he?"

There were other questions and remarks along the same lines, along with a few outright lies as a few tried to claim friendship with him.

Very self-conscious now, but trying to emulate Draco's attitude of not seeming to notice anyone else, Harry walked up and sat on the stool. With a smile so small as to be almost unnoticeable, Professor McGonagall placed the hat on Harry's head.

'_Oh... Oh, my. Oh, yes. I've been waiting for you, you know. Oh, but you're a tough one. Slytherin? There's a great desire to prove yourself, there. Gryffindor? Oh, yes, there's courage aplenty. But you're also quite bright, and Ravenclaw is a possibility. However, I do believe you'd do best in Slytherin,_' the hat said in Harry's mind.

A bit taken aback, Harry nevertheless thought back at it. _'I think I'd rather like being with Draco, and you put him in Slytherin,'_ he replied.

'_Yes, you have the potential to be great, and Slytherin could definitely help you, there. Very well, then, it had best be... _'

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat yelled out triumphantly.

Harry took the hat off, grinning, handed it back to the woman without really looking at her, and then almost ran over to join Draco, who made room for him on the bench. By the time the congratulations, welcomes (and self-congratulations) from the Slytherins had died down and Harry had the time to return his attention to the Sorting, the consternation that had been showing on the faces of some of the staff had been well hidden, and the last few new students were being Sorted.

"Weasley, Ronald!" Sorted into Gryffindor, and then, "Zabini, Blaise!" Sorted into Slytherin.

Blaise was a rather pretty boy, Harry distantly thought, if a bit exotic with that dark skin and Asiatic eyes, but he preferred Draco's more refined features. He dismissed the thought and turned back to the Head Table where the Headmaster had just stood to make a speech.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," he said. "Before the Sorting Feast begins, I'd just like to say a few words: nitwit, oddment, blubber, tweak." Then he sat, a bit heavily.

"Did he sound a bit off to you?" Harry heard one upperclassman ask another.

"Who can tell? The old man's a slice short of a loaf anyway," was the reply.

"No, I think you're right," said another. "Dumbledore almost sounded _depressed!_"

Harry tuned out the conversation and turned his attention to all the food that had just appeared on the table. After he got over his astonishment he started loading his plate. When he caught sight of Draco's slightly disapproving look, he tried to emulate the blond's manners - but he still managed to eat half again what Draco did. It felt good to have a full belly, for once. Not that the Dursleys had ever really _starved_ him (except once or twice, when he was being punished), but he'd never really got enough to eat.

After the meal there were announcements. Stay out of the forest. No magic in the corridors. The third floor corridor on the right is out of bounds - unless you want to _die?_ Those weren't Dumbledore's exact words, but that was the gist of them. Harry was intrigued. Why was the Forbidden Forest forbidden? What would they have in the school that could cause you to die, and why in the world would they have something like that where children were, anyway? Harry had laughed nervously when he'd heard that announcement, but he noticed many didn't, and somehow he didn't think it was an empty threat.

And then the headmaster had announced that everyone would sing the school song - to their own tune? Dumbledore waved his wand, causing a banner with words on it to appear over his head, and began. A horrendous din of clashing tunes hit Harry's ears. He looked at Draco and rolled his eyes, laughing. He and Draco came to an unspoken understanding and they both sat there silently, as did most of Slytherin House, waiting for it all to be over.

Harry's stomach was starting to bother him a bit, as well. Maybe he'd eaten just a bit _too_ much. But he had another laugh when everyone else was through singing, and a pair of redheaded twins (probably Weasleys) under the Gryffindor banner were still singing - to a _dirge!_ It was macabre, but so bizarre!

About that time he felt a brief, stabbing pain in his scar. When he recovered enough to look up, he saw two of the teachers looking at him: Professor Quirrel, whom he'd briefly met in Diagon Alley, and a greasy-haired man with a hook nose. The latter was looking thoughtful and a bit discomposed, but Quirrel... Although his face had the same bumbling, helpless, innocent look that Harry had seen when he'd briefly met the man in Diagon Alley, his eyes were totally malicious. Harry quickly looked away. He had no idea how a teacher he'd barely met could dislike him so much - or why!

But Harry didn't have time to dwell on it, because at that time a prefect came up to them and told them to follow her. Harry was surprised when they headed down into the dungeons. As large as the castle was, Harry had figured they would be on one of the upper floors: maybe even in one of the towers. However, that wasn't the case. Soon they stopped in front of a blank expanse of wall, and the prefect turned to speak to them.

"If you look closely, you will see that the mortar between some of the stones here is darker, creating the outline of a snake. The password is 'serpentium nox noctis'(1)."

Harry looked at the wall, but although he could see some darker mortar here and there, he couldn't quite make out a snake outline. He squinted at it, and the figure slid into view. Now it seemed so obvious, he couldn't figure out how he'd missed it in the first place. But he'd barely had time to make that observation when the prefect faced the wall and spoke the password. In a manner similar to the brick wall that led from behind The Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley, the stone shifted and created an opening into the Slytherin common room.

There, just feet away from a large fireplace, stood their Head of House, exuding an aura of authority.

The prefect didn't give any obvious sign, but Harry rather thought she was surprised to find him there. However, she urged her charges, including Harry, to gather around him. Since there weren't many of them, it didn't take long.

Professor Snape looked solemnly down his nose at them, not deigning to lower his head for the task, and began to speak.

"You have been Sorted into the most prestigious House of this school," he began. "However, it is also the most maligned, having fallen victim to the reputations of only a few alumni. You will, therefore, support each other, watch each other's back, and... "

The professor's speech went on in that vein for quite some time, also covering some of the House' more prestigious history. They were also warned that if they had in-House problems, to keep them in-House; they were never to air their differences in front of non-Slytherins. If necessary, he would be the final arbitrator. Finally he was finished, however, and he instructed the prefects to show their new members to their rooms.

Harry turned to go with rest of the boys, when the professor spoke again. "Potter: a moment."

Snape waited until the others were out of the room to continue.

"I knew your father, Potter," he said.

Harry's face lit up. Maybe he could learn something about his parents from this man!

Snape's next words dashed that hope. "We were not friends. However, since you have been Sorted into my House, I must consider that perhaps you are cut from a different cloth than he. I shall be keeping a close eye on you. Do not disappoint me." At that he sent Harry on his way and departed the room himself, on his own business.

Bewildered, Harry went in the direction he had seen the Slytherin boys disappear, wondering what his father had been like to provoke such ill feeling.

The male upper-classman prefect found Harry before he could become too lost, and took him to his new room, where he was happy to find that he would be sharing a dorm room with Draco. Goyle and Crabbe were also ensconced in the room - all thanks to Draco's influence, the blond informed him. Harry shook his head - amused, now, with Draco's airs, since he knew they were mainly for show and not an integral part of the boy's personality. For the rest of it, he hoped Hagrid was right and he would be able to help modify Draco's attitudes.

Harry was very impressed with his bed. Compared to the cot he'd had to sleep on, it was huge - luxurious - and he said so, again shocking Draco with what Harry must have been used to, and to whom the sleeping arrangements were quite a large step down.

Harry went to sleep that night happy, despite his Head of House' warning, glad to be away from the Dursleys, and having found a friend to share this adventure with: their first year at Hogwarts.

o~~~~~~*~~~~~~o

1: 'Snake night', or 'night of the snake'.

-2-


	5. Five Minutes: 2

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Two**

Harry wound up taking Draco's advice for classes to attend. Some classes were mandatory of course, but there _were_ electives. In the end, he and Draco wound up with the same timetable: Charms, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts (DADA, over which acronym they shared a snicker), Transfigurations, Potions, Herbology, Astrology, and then Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, their electives for the year.

Charms covered your basic homely spellcasting such as levitation, grooming, summoning, cleaning, repairing, and so on. History of Magic was pretty much self-explanatory, covering the history of the wizarding world and its many races. DADA was a self-defence class which taught defensive and offensive spell casting. Transfigurations covered turning one thing into another (very handy if you were caught without whatever you wanted or needed). Potions wasn't a subject that could be pinned down quite so easily, as the many resultant liquids could harm, heal, and do many other things. Herbology was plants of course (almost an ancillary course to Potions), and how to grow and care for those plants, but Harry was amazed by what Draco told him of some of this world's plants. Astrology, because some types of magic would only work if the stars were in the right place. (Fortunately that class was only required the first two years.) Arithmancy, it turned out, was the study of spell construction through the use of numbers. One could translate a spell into numbers in order to understand how they worked; and through that understanding, be able to construct new, different spells. Ancient Runes was the study of magical symbols and their uses from cultures all over the globe.

Some of these classes would be required their entire academic careers at Hogwarts, and they would keep learning more advanced and powerful variations on the subjects. Others could be changed from year to year, or dropped after their Ordinary Wizarding Levels (OWLs). Indeed, some pupils would drop out of school entirely at that point. Others might not be allowed to continue failed classes, or could be removed from the school altogether if the results of their OWLs were too low. Those that left, for whatever reason, would attempt to find apprenticeships to learn a career.

During their conversations about the various classes, Draco found out just how ignorant of the wizarding world and its ways Harry was, and had informed the dark-haired boy that this state of affairs could not continue. No friend of his could remain so ignorant, or Harry would wind up embarrassing them both. He had informed Harry quite haughtily that he, Draco Malfoy, would be filling in those woefully large gaps in Harry's wizarding and social education.

Although Harry was willing to learn, Draco's attitude led them to their first fight. Harry had eventually overpowered his blond friend, lectured him from his position atop the boy, then hugged him until Draco forgave him. Although thin and malnourished, fighting his cousin Dudley and Dudley's friends had taught Harry a few tricks. He was still surprised when he won, but he was quick to take advantage of it. It helped, of course, that Draco had never in his life had to physically fend off anyone. Nobody had ever dared assault him.

When Draco found that _all_ of Harry's clothing was like the outfits he'd already seen him in... Well, he was aghast. Harry didn't even have undergarments! Draco thought about it for a few days, then decided there was nothing for it: he'd have to have his mother's help. Before the end of the week he'd written and informed her of the situation, both vis a vis the clothing and Harry's abominable ignorance, what he had planned, and the tutoring he was implementing to help correct it. He then asked for help in getting his friend a decent wardrobe, and why. (With the exception of mentioning the lack of undergarments, of course. Good taste must be maintained.)

As for classes, Harry found out just how much he didn't know there, as well.

Draco, of course, was hiding how much he knew. He had been well schooled in the basics of spell casting by his father. He rather thought at least some of the other pure-bloods had been taught more than they were letting on as well, but he didn't try to find out. If he had been counseled to hide how much he knew, they had as well, and there was an unspoken code of honour to keep on that score.

~*~

_"Whew! Made it!" Ron Weasley exclaimed, as he ran into the Transfigurations classroom. He looked around in triumph, gloating over his accomplishment, and threw himself into an empty seat. "Wouldn't do to have the old bat find me late first day, would it?" he said, grinning at the other person at the desk he'd sat behind. He was still very upset with Professor McGonagall. Even before he'd been Sorted he'd been in trouble with her, and afterward he'd been given a detention which he would serve that night._ _Several members of Ron's House groaned, a few covered their eyes, but none said anything._ _Ron looked towards the professor's desk just in time to see the cat that had been sitting on it leap off, transforming into said 'old bat'. "Bloody hell," he moaned, letting his head fall forward to bang into the top of the desk._ _"You would do well, Mister Weasley, to remember a few things," a very displeased professor began, "the first of which is to never be late to lectures." Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Professor McGonagall overrode him. "Secondarily, things are not always as they seem. Thirdly," she stressed, as Ron again opened his mouth, "vulgarities are frowned upon in this school, and finally, never insult one of your lecturers; you never know where we might be. Five points from Gryffindor for the first two offences, and an additional detention for the last."_

Harry had been informed of this incident by a First Year Gryffindor who was impressed with Harry's fame, and was trying to get into his good graces. Harry had merely smiled and thanked the girl, who appeared to be of East Indian stock, and gone on his way. Later he had a grand laugh over it with Draco as he related the tale to him.

~*~

"You are here to learn the art and science of brewing potions."

It was Friday, and the Slytherin and Gryffindor First Years' first potions class. Professor Snape had wasted no time in addressing the class after swiftly striding into the classroom, his robes billowing about his legs.

After giving a short speech about potions and the expectations he had of his pupils (not much), he turned to Harry. "Mister Potter! What would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" the hook-nosed professor asked.

Harry was taken by surprise, but tried to remember what he'd had a chance to read before coming to Hogwarts, and since. However there was too much he'd read, and not enough time to study and memorise it. "I- I'm afraid I don't know, sir," Harry replied.

Professor Snape frowned at him. "Too busy to look at your text before term started, Potter?"

There was a snicker from one of the Gryffindors. It was easy to tell, because the pupils had not mixed when they entered and seated themselves, but stayed in their own respective House groups; Slytherins to the right, Gryffindors to the left.

"A point from Gryffindor!" Snape barked, before turning back to Harry.

"I suggest, Mister Potter," he said bitingly, without waiting for Harry to try to answer the last question he'd posed, "that you be more prepared for your next class with me."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied miserably.

Snape then turned and began firing questions at the Gryffindor who had snickered at Harry: Ron Weasley, of course, who fared no better than Harry had. By the time Professor Snape was through with that boy, the redhead had almost slid out of his chair in his efforts to escape the questioning, and had lost an extra three points for his House.

In the meantime, Draco had whispered that he would help Harry study and catch up, having had the potions book most of the summer: which offer Harry gratefully accepted. But he was also feeling a bit guilty for all the work to which his friend was going, to help him. (Mister Malfoy, being on the school's board of directors, had advance notice of all the texts that would be called for and had bought them soon after, but had directed Draco to spend most of his time with the potions text, it being the most complicated of the subjects.)

The professor then had them make an anti-boil potion. Draco showed Harry how to cut up the ingredients, corrected Harry's stirring technique, and generally guided him though the exercise (Draco's mother having given her son the same tips just a few weeks past.) A Gryffindor boy was less lucky, as his potion exploded on him, and he actually _broke out_ in very painful boils.

"Weasley!" Professor Snape snapped, "Weren't you watching out for your classmate? Didn't you see him forgetting to take his potion off the fire before adding the porcupine quills? Five points off Gryffindor! And take Mister Longbottom to the infirmary! Then I want you back here to clean up this mess."

The redhead actually had the temerity to try to argue his innocence, and received another point off his House before he did as he was bidden.

~*~

Unfortunately, to Draco's mind, First Years weren't allowed on outings, so the shopping trip he had requested of his mother to buy Harry a new wardrobe had been put off until the winter hols. Reluctantly, Draco had come to the conclusion that his friend was a disgrace to Slytherin House whilst he was wearing his present wardrobe, so he had convinced Harry to let him dispose of 'the rags', and they had begun to share Draco's wardrobe (although he _did_ have his mother send more of it from Malfoy Manor). They were close enough in size that it was possible.

The difference in Harry's appearance when not in school robes was amazing. With a haircut and eye correction, Draco thought, Harry would be even better looking. (Draco had rarely seen a wizard or witch who wasn't elderly who wore spectacles, and very few of those, so there had to be a spell or potion.) He didn't think to analyse why, but the thought of being able to see Harry's eyes better quite appealed to him.

The following weeks were busy ones for Harry as Draco drilled him in wizarding life and pure-blood customs, and tutored him in potions after they had done the class work assigned for the day.

After a days-long struggle with himself, and then extracting a solemn, binding promise from Harry to keep the knowledge to himself, Draco had also started teaching Harry the magic his father had taught _him_.

This is how the first of Harry's unexpected gifts had been discovered. With all the extra knowledge Draco was pouring into him, Harry was struggling a little to remember everything, so he had been sitting on his bed revising the spells he'd learned. He'd been muttering the spells and moving his hand as though he held his wand in order to practice the wrist movements without the chance of causing an accident, when it had happened.

As good luck would have it, it wasn't one of the spells Draco had taught Harry, but a charm from Professor Flitwick's class - Wingardium Leviosa. Harry was doing it over and over again, trying to get the wrist flick just right, when he heard "What?" exclaimed quite loudly.

Curious, Harry leaned around his drawn-back bed curtains. His eyes widened as he saw Vince dangling, without support, three feet in the air. When he got over his shock, a grin covered his face. "Who's done you, then?" he asked the boy.

Vincent was not amused. "Don't play the innocent with me, Potter. You're the only other in here, you pillock! Get me down!"

Harry continued to grin as he protested his innocence. "I couldn't have," he said. "I didn't have my wand!"

"Likely tale," Vince said angrily. "So that was a mouse muttering 'Wingardium Leviosa' over and over, then?"

Harry didn't answer right away. Instead, he got out his wand and incanted "Finite Incantatum," ending the levitation spell on the large lad.

Unfortunately Vincent dropped like a rock, landing quite hard on the floor. Rubbing the bruised spots, he slowly picked himself up, glowering at Harry.

"Vince, I didn't do it. I couldn't have! Yes, I was revising, but I wasn't using my wand!" Harry told the boy apprehensively, readying his wand. "But if you're going to get violent," he said, aiming as the boy started to advance... "Wingardium Leviosa!" And Vince was once more dangling in the air, though only a few inches off the ground this time.

"Potter!" Vince exclaimed, frustrated anger colouring his voice.

"See?" Harry said triumphantly. "Even if I _had_ done it, you wouldn't be so far up as you were!"

"Someone prank you, Vincent?" came Draco's amused voice from the door. "And you were all set to blame poor Harry, here, were you? Quite clever of whoever it was, really," he drawled.

Harry shot a hurt look at the blond.

"Really, Harry!" Draco said, defending himself. "What better prank than one which can be blamed on another?"

"What of one in which the culprit is never found?" Harry argued.

"Excuse me," Vincent said, trying to get their attention. He might yell at Harry when they were alone, but with Draco around he was more circumspect. Draco, through his father, had too much influence and could get them into trouble.

"And leave everyone alert and watching for the next unexplained prank?" Draco shook his head at Harry's naivete. "No, that would make it more difficult to pull off the next one."

Harry opened his mouth to protest.

"I say!" Vincent said, quite a bit louder. Being airborne without a broom was making him a bit peaky.

"What?" Harry snapped, whirling to glare at the lad.

"All right, then; you didn't do it. Will you get me down again?" Vince requested.

Harry pinked a bit, then again cast Finite Incantatum, before turning again to Draco to resume their 'discussion'.

"'Finite' will do the same thing, you know, and faster," Draco commented, momentarily derailing Harry's train of thought.

Vince, having been able to absorb the shock of the shorter drop and stay on his feet, looked strangely at the two, and then quietly slipped out of the room.

Before Harry could recover, Draco grabbed his hand and dragged him over to his bed. "Sit!" he demanded cheerily, "and tell me what that was all about!"

Harry was a bit disgruntled about the whole episode, but he put his wand in a pocket, sat on the bed, and started telling his friend all about it. He demonstrated what he'd been doing, without watching where he was aiming (he didn't have his wand in hand, after all), and kept talking.

Draco was distracted by a movement in the direction Harry had gestured. His eyes slowly widened, and he put his hand on Harry's forearm, drawing the dark-haired boy's attention to where he was looking. There, hovering over one of the desks in the room, was Harry's Transfigurations essay for that week. "Wandless magic, Harry," was Draco's quiet, awe-inspired comment. "That's rare!"

Draco quickly pulled himself together, of course. He was a little disturbed that he'd let his emotions show yet again - his father would have been most disappointed in him - but he comforted himself with the thought that other than anger and disdain, he only did it with Harry, and rarely outside of Slytherin House. Besides which, wandless magic _was_ rare, even amongst the most accomplished and powerful witches and wizards. He could be forgiven for being surprised that his best friend, an eleven-year-old boy, could accomplish it.

After some experimentation to prove to Harry that yes, he _had_ levitated the parchment, and after some discussion, Draco convinced Harry to keep the ability secret: even from Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to have taken quite an interest in Harry. Harry and the headmaster actually had tea together about once a week while the old man asked after Harry's progress.

"You may not have enemies now, Harry, unless some of the Dark Lord's old followers are still around holding a grudge, but nobody gets through life without making at least a few," Draco said from the wisdom of his one month's seniority, "and my father says the more powerful and influential you are, the more enemies you have. You never want your enemies to know your every strength and ability," was one of the many arguments Draco put forth in favour of secrecy, "and as 'The Boy Who Lived', you're famous. There are bound to be people who are jealous of you just for that stupid bit of fame."

Although Harry agreed that being famous for not dying was stupid, when he protested that the headmaster was hardly an enemy, Draco again repeated a 'my father says': this one that the more people who know a secret, the more chance that it will leak, and spread.

Harry wasn't at all sure he wanted to be powerful and influential to begin with, but after thinking on it he knew if he were, he'd never have people like the Dursleys lording it over him again. (That was something else Draco kept pounding into him: that he was more powerful than any Muggle, and it was shameful that he'd allowed himself to be pushed around like that.) Okay, so he wasn't entirely against the idea. He still hadn't any idea how to go about it. Maybe he'd just settle for being powerful enough to keep from being bullied. That brought to mind something Draco kept repeating to him over and over again: 'Father says knowledge is the key to power, Harry. The more you know, and the less the other person knows, the better.' He resolved to do much better in his classes, and pay more attention to what Draco was teaching him.

Draco was not a patient instructor. He had never had reason to learn patience. But Harry wasn't about to take attitude from a friend as he'd had to from Dudley, his cousin. So as has already been pointed out, he and Draco argued, and even fought once in a while. (Although 'tussled' would be more accurate; injuries were almost always accidental.) Harry won more often than not due to having had 'practice' with Dudley and Dudley's friends, but even when Draco won, the blond came away having a bit more respect for his friend. Draco detested physical violence, but after a few incidents of Harry tackling him before he had a chance to pull his wand, he began to see that it might have its uses. He still detested it, but he got better at it.

Draco persevered in teaching Harry, and Harry proved to be a relatively fast study, even if he rarely remembered everything the first time he was told, and had to practice unfamiliar manners and mannerisms over and over again to get them right. Not that Harry was entirely without manners; the Dursleys had seen to that, as they demanded to be treated as his betters. (Ironically, their own son was almost entirely without manners.) Having had practice hiding his emotions and thoughts while with the Dursleys - he was punished for the slightest infractions - Harry, under Draco's tutelage, got much better at it. He often helped remind Draco when the blond's temper was about to get the better of him.

Oddly enough, learning magic came far easier to Harry. Although he still needed to memorise and practise, discovering he was powerful enough to be capable of wandless magic had instilled confidence in him in that area (although Draco was almost frustrated enough to pull his hair out by the time he'd convinced Harry that he was special). Draco had him practice each spell both with a wand and without until Harry could do both. It took more concentration to do a spell without a wand, Harry found, but the power of the spell was also better - stronger.

~*~

Of course Harry's acquaintances in Slytherin didn't stay static with Draco and his 'guards', but predictably enough those he became most closely associated with were his year-mates. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were the other two boys in his year. Zabini wasn't a bad sort, if a bit poncy for Harry's tastes, but Nott made him uneasy. It wasn't anything he could put a finger on, exactly. Nott was a bit intense and kept going on about the 'Dark Lord' his father used to follow. But Draco had told Harry what he knew of Lord Voldemort, although he was still a bit prickly about his own father's alleged (falsely, according to him) dealings with the man, so Harry kept mum during those rants and made himself scarce as soon as possible.

Then there were the girls: Daphne Greengrass was a quiet girl with light brown hair who usually seemed to fade into the woodwork. Millicent Bulstrode was large, solid, and sensitive about it. She had a temper you didn't want to tempt, as Harry and the other Slytherins had found out when Nott had got a bit mean with his teasing. They'd had to call in Professor Snape to heal the boy, in order to preserve the image of a united front to the rest of the school.

And then there was Pansy Parkinson: on the surface she was a very girly girl with a high-pitched, irritating voice, but she was strong willed, too. Not bad looking, if you liked the hard, round-faced, pug-nosed look. But Harry had taken a bit of a disliking to her. She was always following them around, pestering Draco, and interfering with their fun just by being there. She mightn't have been so bad had she been able to just _shut up_ once in a while, and stop simpering and flirting with Draco. He'd even overheard her telling Daphne that Draco was going to be her boyfriend. Harry didn't like that. Draco was _his_ friend, and he wasn't going to let some girl break up their friendship. Harry had seen it often enough at the state school* he'd attended before Hogwarts - once a boy had a girlfriend, his friends rarely saw him.

The subject of Harry and Draco being a bit 'touchy-feely' with each other was a mild source of teasing for the two until they learned to be more subtle about it. Crabbe and Goyle, who were as large as most of the third years, were a help in getting the others to back off, too. But that warm, tingly feeling they got whenever they touched was addictive. Not that the wizarding world cared all that much if there was more to their friendship than what showed, but Draco's father wanted Draco to produce heirs, and Draco didn't want to disappoint his father by having him hear untrue rumours.

~*~

Their first flying lesson was quite interesting. It was with the Gryffindors. Madam Hooch, a tall, wiry woman with short graying hair was their flying instructor, and the school's games mistress. She had led the small group out to the Quidditch pitch where two rows of rather tatty-looking brooms had been laid out on the ground. She had each of them stand with a broom on the side of their wand hand.

Weasley kept giving Harry surreptitious, thoughtful looks, then shooting small frowns at Draco. Harry noticed, but while he immediately dismissed the other boy, he also kept him in sight, just in case the redhead decided to take up his seeming vendetta.

Ron, for his part, was debating the advisability of trying to be friendly with 'the famous Harry Potter', even if he _was_ a Slytherin. It might boost his social standing and bring him out of the shadows of his older brothers, if he could manage it. On the other hand, 'The Boy Who Lived' had been Sorted into Slytherin, and was a friend to that Death Eater scum's boy, Draco. Potter was probably no better than any of the rest of those snakes, despite his hero status. But if it could help him...

"Now," Madam Hooch said, instructing them, "I want you to stretch your wand hand out over your broom. Concentrate on what you want it to do - in this case, to rise into your hand - and give the command 'Up'!"

Harry did so, and was gratified to have the broom immediately rise into his waiting hand. He noticed that a few others, mainly purebloods, had the same thing happen for them, the rest having mixed results. He grinned at Draco who had also succeeded on the first try, but the blond only raised one eyebrow slightly, which reminded Harry to school his own features. Most of the others had success after a few tries. Madam Hooch went to those who were still having trouble and coached them until everyone present had succeeded, and had a broom in hand.

She then showed them how to sit a broom without sliding off, and then said, "Now straddle your broom and take a firm hold of the handle. Do _not_ do anything else until I instruct you to do so," the instructor told them. She then began going up and down the lines, correcting pupils' grips on their brooms.

Draco rolled his eyes at this. He'd been telling Harry, and anyone who would listen, that his father had taught him how to ride a broom a couple of years earlier, and that he was now quite proficient on a broom. He'd even had a few close calls with helicopters, according to him. Harry had his doubts, but hadn't said anything.

Madam Hooch had reached them in their line. "A good, firm grip, Mister Malfoy, but..."

"I've been flying for years, madam," Draco told her loftily.

"Then you've been holding your broom wrongly for years, boy," she told him in a brisk, no-nonsense tone as she repositioned his hands in the correct grip, and then explained why it was better.

Draco blushed angrily at being corrected - and having made a fool of himself in front of others - while Harry tried desperately not to laugh at his friend's discomfiture. Against his best efforts, he let slip the tiniest beginnings of a snicker. Draco's blush deepened.

"Good grip, Potter," Madam Hooch said as she inspected his positioning. "You've flown before?"

"No ma'am," Harry said, with his own blush, now. "Just lucky, I suppose."

Madam Hooch gave a soft snort, and moved on.

"I do believe the old cow thinks we're a pair of liars," Draco murmured to Harry, once the woman was far enough away. "And thank you for the support, by the way," he added a little more coldly.

Harry gave him a sly grin. "If you hadn't been boasting..." he teased.

Draco blushed again at the truth of Harry's words, but, "I _am_ a good flier!" he insisted.

Harry shrugged equably and turned to watch their instructor's progress. Longbottom was so eager to please that he kept moving his hands before Madam Hooch could help him find the correct grip, finally driving her to forcefully take hold of his hands and place them as they needed to be.

It was during that episode that it occurred to Harry to wonder why a wand wasn't required to do anything with brooms or flying them. Perhaps the magic was built in, making the broom a limited sort of wand or staff on its own?

Harry took the chance to ask the instructor while she was between pupils, and received an approving look from her as she agreed that such was indeed the case, and they'd be getting into a more in-depth look at that in a later class. She even awarded a point to Slytherin.

Finally done with the task of making sure everyone knew how to properly grasp their broom, the woman then made her way once again to the head of the lines. "Very good, then!" she said briskly, trying to rid herself of some of the frustration that had built up. "Now when I tell you, kick off from the ground, keep it steady at a few feet, then-"

"Longbottom!" Madam Hooch exclaimed in an annoyed tone, attracting everyone's attention to 'the pudgy boy with the toad', as Harry thought of him.

One glance was all it took to know the boy was in trouble - and not only with the instructor. Longbottom's broom was rising under him. The boy, apparently afraid of being the last off the ground, had evidently panicked and kicked off too soon, and was now terrified at the position he found himself in as the broom rose at a steady pace. He was holding onto the broom handle for dear life, but his balance was obviously wobbly.

"Longbottom! Get that broom down here at once!"

Harry looked briefly at the instructor, wondering what she saw that he didn't; because insofar as he could tell, the pudgy Gryffindor had absolutely no control over the broom whatsoever. The thing kept going ever higher. Wasn't she going to do anything to help him?

It was already too late. At about six metres above the ground Longbottom lost the fight with his balance and plummeted to the ground. Harry winced and paled at the thud and faint 'crack' sound as the boy hit. Nor was he alone in that reaction.

Madam Hooch was there almost immediately after he hit the ground, having started running as soon as she saw him lose his balance. "Broken wrist," she was heard to mutter after a hurried, but thorough examination that entailed casting a few spells of which Harry had never heard. "Come on, boy; up you get!"

At those words everyone relaxed a bit, although most of them were still shaken. He wasn't dead, and that's what they had all feared.

Madam Hooch shifted in her support of the boy as she turned to address the class. "I'll be taking Longbottom to the infirmary," she announced. "Nobody move until I get back!"

"Did you see his face?" Draco laughed immediately after they'd gone. "I can't believe the great lump fell off his broom!"

Most of the other Slytherins followed Draco's lead, and also began to laugh.

Harry knew Draco well enough to know the jeering was just to cover up his own shaken emotions, but it still upset him. "Shut it!" he said fiercely, facing his House mates. "Would you want others laughing at you if _you_ were hurt?"

Everyone, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, stared at Harry.

Draco couldn't believe Harry was breaking House solidarity. "I wouldn't be stupid enough to fall off my broom!" he retorted.

"Maybe not," Harry replied, his voice hard, "but that's not what I asked."

They stood there, green eyes glaring into equally ferocious gray - but eventually, though his head remained unbowed, Draco's eyes shifted slightly, breaking eye contact as the weight of Harry's question overwhelmed him. "No," he finally whispered.

Harry's face softened. He would have liked to give Draco a hug, but not in front of outsiders. He did give his friend a small smile and a squeeze on the shoulder. "Sorry," Harry said, hearing someone start to laugh. "You know I didn't single you out?" He was relieved at Draco's small nod. He'd likely be in trouble with the rest of his House later, but right now...

"Weasley!" he called out, turning to the snickering boy. "Care to share the joke?" He stared into the redhead's blue eyes coldly.

"You're a bit of all right, Potter!" Weasley replied with a grin. "Not many who could make a Malfoy back down."

Harry reached out and grabbed Draco's arm as the blond reached for his wand. "Not now," he said quietly. "Too many witnesses."

"I see you've got him well trained, Potter," the redhead said, sneering at Draco.

Harry had to tighten his grip. "It's not me, Weasley," Harry replied, interrupting Draco's retort, "it's knowing what's worthy of attention, and what's not." With that he turned dismissively from the now angry, red-faced boy, but kept him in the periphery of his vision. His words had the effect of reminding Draco of priorities as well, and Harry felt some of the tension leave his friend.

"I think it's time we got into the pranking business, don't you?" he said conversationally to Draco - and then ducked, pushing Draco out of the way as well as he saw the redhead cast a spell at him. As a First Year it wouldn't likely be a very powerful or harmful spell, but...

Harry was just pulling his own wand, Draco not far behind him, when he heard "_Mis_-ter Weasley!" Authority had arrived in the form of Minerva McGonagall.

"Five points off Gryffindor, Mister Weasley, and a week of detention with Mister _Filch,_" she pronounced, "and two points off Gryffindor for each of your House mates who did nothing to stop you!"

The Slytherins had started snickering as soon as sentence was pronounced on the redhead, but they were awestruck by the additional points taken - and from her own House! As soon as their shock had passed, though, their glee was evident.

"Keep it going, Weasley!" Pansy called out with a grin. "Slytherin will win the House Cup merely from your losing points for Gryffindor!"

The Slytherins roared their laughter.

Ron Weasley was doing his best to bore holes through all of the Slytherins with his eyes. It was a talent he had yet to achieve, however. And if he had bothered to look around, he would have noticed that most of the other Gryffindors were glaring at _him_. Eventually he did notice that he wasn't in best odour, and subsided. 'So much for trying to be friends with Potter,' he thought. 'If he was any good to begin with, he's been corrupted.'

Harry sighted a round glass ball in the grass. He remembered Draco pointing it out to him when Longbottom had received it at breakfast that morning; a Remembrall, he called it, for reminding one when you'd forgotten something. Draco had laughed about it, saying it was pretty useless if you couldn't remember what you had forgotten. Harry walked over to it and picked it up, then walked over to the Irish boy - Finnigan, wasn't it? - under the watchful eye of Professor McGonagall.

Weasley looked as though he'd like to accuse Harry of stealing it, but with all evidence to the contrary, and McGonagall keeping a watchful eye on him as well as the proceedings...

"You're Finnigan, aren't you?" Harry asked the boy. Upon the Gryffindor's nod, he held out the Remembrall. "Give this to Longbottom when you see him next," he said, and walked away. He was almost back to Draco before he heard a belated "Thanks."

"Why did you do that?" Draco asked with almost angry perplexity.

Harry shrugged. "Why not?"

"They're Gryffindors!"

"Only for seven years," Harry said offhandedly. "Aren't you always going on about making contacts?"

Draco knew for a fact that there was a perfectly sound retort for that observation in regard to _Gryffindors_, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of it.

"Maybe one of them will remember that someday, and do me a favour in return," Harry said, trying to mollify his friend.

That effectively shut Draco's argument down. Harry's reasoning was very Slytherin, or would have been had he been sure Harry had reasoned it out in advance, but it gave Draco something to think about in regard to his own usual mode of behaviour. "You're too nice," he groused, just to keep up appearances.

Harry smirked, and started discussing the beginnings of their prank career - Weasley being the target of choice in their minds right now.

Revenge was another respected Slytherin tradition, and Weasley had crossed them too many times already.

It was another ten minutes before Madam Hooch returned, at which point she thanked Professor McGonagall for looking after her class for her, and continued where she'd left off with them.

By the end of the lesson Draco had shown that yes, he did know how to handle a broom, and quite well at that. But Harry did just as well, which had Draco frowning at his friend. After the lesson, as they were heading back to the castle, he decided to ask about it.

"That was your first time on a broom?" he inquired doubtfully.

Harry nodded.

"I don't believe it," Draco averred recklessly. "You can't be that good without having had some practice."

Harry looked queerly at Draco, then stopped dead in his tracks. "You **didn't** just call me a liar," he said, too calmly.

Draco opened his mouth, then imitated a goldfish a couple of times. "I- I didn't mean to," he said, not wanting to make an already stressful day worse. "But you must admit... " He stopped, frowning thoughtfully. "No, I suppose you wouldn't know."

"Know what?" Harry asked, his voice taut.

"You were brought up by Muggles?" Draco asked, instead of replying to the question.

"Yes," Harry replied flatly.

"And you'd never set foot in the wizarding world before we met at the train?"

"Diagon Alley," Harry reminded him, still upset.

Draco nodded. "Yes, but that was just a few days prior," he said. His expression changed to one of puzzlement. "You truly never flew before?"

"I already said so," Harry said shortly. Then, tired of standing there, he headed back towards the castle again.

Draco followed quietly.

Harry didn't like being called a liar, and didn't speak to Draco again until later, after supper, and then only because Draco spoke first.

"I'm sorry," Draco said to Harry quietly in their dorm room. "It's just hard to believe anyone could be so good, their first time."

"It was," Harry stated with a glare.

Draco frowned fretfully at the floor. "I'm not in the habit of apologising to _anyone_, Harry," he said quietly. "I believe you." He looked up at Harry, uncertainty on his face. "Still friends?"

Harry looked at him for a moment, judging the blond's sincerity, then smiled as he walked over to Draco and hugged him. "Still friends," he said. He would have forgiven the blond eventually anyway, but he was glad Draco believed him.

A look of relief came across Draco's face as he fiercely returned the hug.

* * *

*A state school in the UK is similar to a public school in the USA. A private school is a pay school, same as in the USA, and a public school is an extremely expensive elite school. (Thanks to Tor for the correction.)

* * *


	6. Five Minutes: 3

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Three**

Harry was used to having bad dreams due to his living conditions with the Dursleys, but the nightmares he started having shortly after he had arrived at Hogwarts were nothing short of horrific, and nothing like he'd ever had before. The first one had woken everyone in his dorm room. Harry hadn't screamed, having been conditioned by his Muggle relatives to expect poor treatment when he was loud, but his loud whimpers and thrashing were enough to disturb the other boys. Goyle and Crabbe were all for stuffing a sock in Harry's mouth, but Draco's look of angered disdain silenced them.

Draco was feeling rather lost, not having any experience dealing with anything of this sort. Finally the tension of doing nothing spurred him to action. He crawled onto Harry's bed and put a hand on Harry's arm. While the contact did not stop the nightmare, it did seem to provide some comfort. Harry's thrashing stopped, and his whimpers decreased in volume. Soon after, Harry was reaching for the blond.

Although a bit startled, Draco wasn't entirely surprised or displeased.

"Go back to bed," Draco ordered his bodyguards. As soon as they had pulled the curtains on their beds, he pulled the curtains on Harry's bed, and returned Harry's embrace.

"Harry," Draco whispered in his ear. When the only response was an effort on Harry's part to hold him closer, he tried again, a little louder. "Harry!"

Thus was begun what became a routine. When Harry had a nightmare, Draco climbed into bed with him.

~*~

"A troll! In the dungeons! Thought you might like to know," Quirrel gasped out as he came through the double doors of the Great Hall, just before he appeared to faint.

Harry frowned, while all around him he heard frightened gasps and whispers. Something about that didn't ring true. 'Thought you might like to know'? That was part of it, certainly. A very inane thing to say, under the circumstances. And if there _was_ a troll in the dungeons, how did it get there? By all accounts, those things were huge.

There was also the fact that the DADA professor's stutter was suspiciously missing.

The only reason Harry wasn't as scared as the others was that he didn't know enough about the subject to _be_ scared. That didn't mean he was unaffected; he was still mildly alarmed, but not enough so that all other thought was driven from his mind, as seemed to be the case with most of the others present.

"If I could have your attention, please!" Professor Dumbledore called from the head table. "Prefects, please escort your House members to their dorms as quickly and efficiently as possible." He then turned to the teachers and started conferring with them, but in such lowered tones that nothing of what he said carried.

Then the Slytherin prefects took Harry's attention as they gathered everyone up for the trip to the dungeons (_But that's where the troll is_, Harry thought, confused by the lack of logic in the action), so he didn't see what the staff did after that.

As they were heading out the double doors with the pupils of the other Houses, he overheard a couple of young Ravenclaws talking.

"Granger never showed up. Do you think she went back to the dorms?"

"I hope so. Weasley really tore into her. She _does_ speak up in classes, often."

"And elsewhere. Well, she _is_ Muggle-born, so maybe she thinks she has something to prove."

"Regardless. Where did you see her last?"

"Heading for the girls'. She looked awfully upset. D'you think Weasley made her cry?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. I hope she went back to the dorms."

And then they were through the doors, and going in different directions.

Harry hung back, touching Draco's arm to clue him in, and the blond joined him. Crabbe and Goyle were already long gone, too frightened of the prospects of a troll in the vicinity to think of their job. It would be the first time they received a punishment for failing in their duty, and it would be a long time before they again failed due to a lack of effort on their parts.

"Prank time?" Draco asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "You remember that bushy-headed girl that shared the boat with us? She's missing. She doesn't know about the troll."

"And?" Draco said. "I heard those Ravenclaws, too; she's a mudblood!"

Harry glared mildly at him. "'Know who a person is, as well as what they are'," he said, paraphrasing Draco's mother.

Draco gave him a dirty look. "Hardly cricket, Harry," he complained. "Besides which, my father says-"

"We don't have time to argue about it," Harry interrupted. "Come on!" He grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him along, heading for the girls' toilet. If Draco hadn't dismissed the girl as worthless without knowing anything about her, Harry would have been more willing to listen to his friend, but he'd been dismissed as worthless by his Muggle relatives for too many years for that to go down well. Besides which, he had a passing acquaintance with the girl - and if he could warn her, she'd be in his debt.

"What's up your nose with this girl, anyway?" Draco asked. "Do you fancy her?"

Harry shot the blond such a look of disdain at that, that Draco's unformed anxieties on the subject were put quite to rest. "What, then?" he asked in exasperation.

"She's smart. If we help her, she might be of use, later," Harry explained.

"We don't need anyone's help, Harry," Draco said impatiently, as he hurried after his friend.

"Not now, no," Harry agreed, but he didn't expound on the subject. He knew he didn't need to.

They started with the girls' loo closest the Great Hall. When they entered they looked around in in all, the girls' loo wasn't all that different from the boys', the main difference being the lack of the marble piss trough found in the community boys' loos. At the same time, they heard a quiet sniffling. They'd been lucky and found her on the first try.

"Granger?" Harry called out quietly.

There was an immediate silence, followed by, "Get out of here! Boys aren't allowed!" in a rather strained voice that Harry recognized as belonging to the girl they were in search of.

"We've come to warn you;" Harry replied, "there's a troll loose. They've sent everyone back to their dorms."

"Likely story," the girl replied in offended tones. "Who are you, then?"

"You've warned her, Harry. Let's go," Draco said, taking and tugging on Harry's hand.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, answering the girl's question. "Look, would we risk detention like this without good reason?" he argued with the girl, and resisting Draco's urging.

"Look, she's not interested, and I don't want to be here if that troll comes around," Draco told Harry, being as persuasive as he could. He was becoming increasingly more nervous.

A bushy head of hair peeked out of one of the end stalls. "There really is a troll, then?" she asked. Seeing Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy out there apparently holding hands wasn't all that persuasive an argument, but the anxious expressions on their faces, and the note of fear in the blond's voice, was. She exited the stall even as Draco spoke.

"Look - Granger, is it? - I don't make it a habit to enter the girls' lav even on my worst day, and wouldn't now if Harry wasn't insisting on playing the hero!"

Harry's face pinked, but whether from embarrassment or annoyed anger was hard to tell. "You needn't have come with me, you know," he said.

"I didn't?" the blond asked with a straight face. "I'll just tell my sore wrist you didn't realize you were pulling on it, then."

Harry's blush was definitely from embarrassment, now. "That's beside the point," he said dismissively. "We all need to get back to our own Houses."

"Well, that I can agree with, anyway!" Draco replied snarkily.

"How did a troll get into Hogwarts?" the girl inquired.

"Look, we don't have time to disc-"

Draco was interrupted as a large, bent-over figure crashed through the door and into the room.

"Troll!" he yelled needlessly, as he quickly drew his wand. He was happy to see that both Harry and the mudblood had done so as well.

"What do we do?" Harry asked urgently.

"Hex the bloody thing!" Draco replied, casting a repelling spell at it. It was a spell he shouldn't have known, but in this life threatening situation he wasn't thinking of that.

The troll's twelve foot tall lumpy body reeked, and looking up at it, Harry could see that its nose was blocked by great, gray, lumpy masses.

Harry cast a Bat Bogey hex. The resulting bat-winged boogers were huge, and although not in the least bit deadly, their attack on the troll's face distracted the dumb beast from the three children, giving them a little time to think. Unfortunately it was very little, as the troll had soon crushed the magically created things - and could probably breathe better than he'd ever had, before.

But during that short time Harry had taken charge, ascertained that Granger really did know her first year spells and hexes, and told her to just keep using them on the troll one after the other, not waiting to see what effect they had, until someone told her to stop. "No time like the present, Granger," he told her when she hesitated. He watched her start slinging spells at the great thing before he turned to Draco.

"What's the best way to stop one of those things?" Harry asked his friend.

"Only two ways I've heard of - kill it or knock it out," Draco replied, not taking his eyes off the troll, and genteelly holding his hand over his nose to try to block the creature's reek. It wasn't really working very well.

Harry looked a bit ill at the thought. "I'd rather not kill it, if there's a choice," he said. He hadn't learned any really deadly spells yet, but enough applications of any spell meant to harm could kill something.

"What do you suggest we use to knock it out, Harry?" Draco asked, using sarcasm to cover his fear. "I don't see anything heavy enough. Do you?"

Looking around, Harry had to admit that there did seem to be a dearth of loose, heavy objects. Except one. Unfortunately, the troll was already clutching it. But then their time was up. "Use the Jelly Legs on him!" he yelled.

Draco cast an incredulous look at his friend before turning back to the troll and doing just that, with what should have been predictable results - the troll started waving its arms (and subsequently its club) all over the place trying to keep its balance. It was rapidly destroying the room and everything in it, and all three children dodged, trying to keep as far away from the troll, its club, and the flying debris as possible.

Harry flung his hand out, quietly but fiercely casting "Locomotor Club!" at the troll's weapon. The troll had a firm grip, but no control over it, so when Harry's hand motion made the club describe a swift, violent arc with the troll's skull at the end of the trajectory, there was a loud 'thump!' sound, and then the troll slowly toppled to the floor.

"That's not a First Year spell!" Hermione accused.

Harry cursed quietly to himself. He had hoped he'd cast it quietly enough that she wouldn't hear it. It was one of the spells that Draco had taught him. But before he could reply, Draco spoke up.

"Haven't you heard of independent study, Granger?" the blond drawled, with a sneer. "Slytherins are ambitious; some of us are not content to learn only what the school is willing to teach us, _when_ it's willing to teach us." Then, before the red-faced girl could retort, he said, "I suggest we vacate the area before that smelly beast regains consciousness."

That was an eminently sensible idea, and they promptly did so. Once outside the door, the Ravenclaw looked at the two Slytherins who had just saved her life, and changed her mind about reporting Potter's use of an advanced spell he shouldn't have known. Fortunately in the confusion of the moment she hadn't noticed that Harry hadn't used his wand. "I'll tell-" She was interrupted.

"Why aren't you three in your dorms?" Professor McGonagall demanded, Professors Sprout and Flitwick following in her wake as she strode towards them. "Ten points off your Houses each for endangering yourselves! I'll find someone to escort you where you belong," she had continued to say, without waiting for an answer. "Come along with me, and-"

"Professor!" Hermione interjected rather forcefully. "I do beg your pardon, but you'll find the troll in there," she said, pointing to the door they'd just exited. "It's unconscious."

All three professors looked at the girl in shock, then at Harry and Draco, who had been trying to look inconspicuous. As this no longer seemed possible, they drew themselves up proudly.

"It's... " Professor McGonagall's lips firmed as she shook off her shock. Then she flicked her wand, putting a complicated locking charm on the door to the toilet.

"I want the three of you to go to your dorms. Now. We shall speak more of this later," she told them stiffly.

Harry looked at Draco, gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and they walked off in the direction of the dungeons.

"Thank you," Hermione called after them.

Neither boy looked back, but Harry gave a negligent wave of his hand over his shoulder.

"She owes us a life debt now, you know," Draco murmured.

"A debt, certainly," Harry replied calmly, "but she helped herself, as well."

Draco looked at Harry as though he were crazy. "Harry," he said slowly, "why do you always discount whatever you do?"

"I don't," Harry argued.

Draco nodded. "Yes - you do. For some reason you want to believe that you aren't capable of doing anything above the ordinary; worse - that you're common. You're not common, Harry. Mind you, you're not as special as everyone would have you believe, but you're far from being common."

Harry blushed with pleasure at this praise, not the least because it came from someone whose opinion he valued, but he felt the need to put himself down rising in his breast. He repressed it with a frown, wondering where it came from. He didn't have to think hard or long to figure it out: the Dursleys, of course. They had taken every opportunity, and manufactured them when they didn't occur naturally, to verbally grind Harry into the dirt, compounding it by treating him as less than worthless.

Draco had watched Harry's expressions change. "What are you thinking?" he inquired.

"The Dursleys," Harry replied. "Have something drilled into your head long enough, you start to believe it." He wasn't angry or bitter about it - not yet - although that reaction might come, in time. He had only just realised the truth; it hadn't had time to internalise yet.

* * *

Dumbledore called all three children to his offices the next day. After hearing their rendition of events, he spoke. "And why did you not report this information to a teacher or prefect?" he inquired.

Harry shrugged. "Everyone was busy," he said, "and in all of the confusion, I was afraid that she would be overlooked."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but his expression was serious as he replied "It is true that you saved Miss Granger's life. However, you endangered your own and Mister Malfoy's life in the process. For deliberately endangering your lives, you and Mister Malfoy will serve a detention with Mister Filtch."

Harry and Draco both wore expressions of disgust on their faces upon hearing this news. However, the headmaster held up a hand to forestall complaint, and continued. "However, for coming to the aid of your fellow pupil in a life threatening situation, I commend you, and will allow you to go shopping with Mrs Malfoy on the next Hogsmeade weekend - a privilege not normally granted First Years."

The commendation did little to assuage Harry and Draco's upset over the detentions, but the prospect of being able to leave the school to go shopping helped a little bit. However, the headmaster was not yet finished. "And for aiding in neutralizing the threat to the school, fifteen points to your Houses, for all three of you."

"Brilliant," Harry muttered. The granting of so few points for their efforts only told him what his fellow Slytherins had been saying all along: Professor Dumbledore was biased against their House. And what was this about 'aiding'? They had 'aided' themselves!

The headmaster looked at him with mild curiosity."Is there a problem, Mister Potter?" he inquired.

"No sir," Harry replied, his voice flat.

"It really doesn't seem fair, sir," Hermione said.

"Oh?"

With an apprehensive glance at Professor McGonagall, who was also the Deputy Headmistress, the girl spoke up. "We had ten points removed when we were found in the corridor, so we _do_ gain a few points, sir, but Malfoy and Potter get detention? It hardly seems fair, sir," she repeated.

The old man's eyes were twinkling wildly with his amusement. With a quick glance at his second, he replied. "I believe you may have a point, Miss Granger. Very well, the detentions are rescinded. And now, I believe you should all return to your Houses."

Harry was fuming as he and Draco made their way back to their common room. Draco wasn't any happier.

"I can't believe that old man!" Harry complained fiercely. "We save Granger's life, knock out a danger to the school, and he 'oh, so _graciously_' doesn't punish us for it!"

"Barmy old coot!" Draco added.

"Quite right!" Harry agreed. Besides the excuse of his present ire, it hadn't taken much to agree with Draco's verdict. Whoever heard of the headmaster of a prestigious school regularly inviting one of his pupils to tea? Okay, yes, he had this unearned fame, but he didn't think that warranted the extent of the headmaster's attention. And Harry had the uncanny feeling that the old man was trying to woo him away from his House, and that made no sense whatsoever. "I suppose the upperclassmen are right; Dumbledore really is prejudiced against Slytherin."

Draco agreed, but said nothing.

After another few moments, Harry thought to add, "Good of Granger to speak up though," he said, "or we'd still have detentions."

Draco nodded with grudging thanks in tribute to the absent girl. She was still a mudblood though, and it was the least she could have done after they'd saved her life. He cheered up at the prospect of telling his fellow Housemates of their adventure - suitably edited and embellished, of course.

* * *

More to come


	7. Five Minutes: 4

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Four**

That Saturday, Draco dragged Harry out of bed at six AM. "Move your arse, Harry!" Draco exclaimed excitedly, as he shook Harry's shoulder. "We're going shopping today!"

Harry groaned sleepily. "What time is it, anyway?"

"It's time for you to get your bum out of bed. We need to get ready, and it's going to take some work to get you presentable for my mother!"

Having just been insulted, Harry opened one eye blearily to glare at his friend. "Oh, _that's_ a lovely way to encourage people to do what you want - insult them," Harry said sarcastically.

Draco ignored him. "You're still not moving," he pointed out, as he gathered their shower supplies.

"You still haven't told me what time it is, either," Harry replied, rolling over in preparation of going back to sleep; an endeavour he knew was likely to be hopeless.

"It's after six," Draco finally admitted, trying to sound outraged, although he knew Harry would probably become more stubborn with that fact.

"You have _got_ to be bloody putting me on," Harry complained, with a groan. "Who gets up at ruddy six o 'clock in the morning to get ready to go shopping? No. Never mind. _You_ do. Are you _mental_?" Harry wound up almost yelling, having sat up to do so.

"Good," Draco exclaimed cheerily, "you're up! Come on!"

"Just do what he says, Potter," came the tired, but exasperated voice of Gregory Goyle. "Some of us are trying to sleep, here." With Draco's mother chaperoning the two, he and Vince weren't needed, and they could sleep in for once.

Harry threw himself back onto his bed, but knew it was a lost cause. With yet another groan, he rolled over and got out of bed. "You're a blooming sadist, Draco. You know that, don't you?"

"Language, Harry," Draco teased.

Harry threw his pillow at him.

After sleeping together so often due to Harry's nightmares, and changing in front of each other, Harry and Draco had recently, albeit gradually, discarded any notions of modesty between them, and had even taken to sharing a cubicle so that they could wash each other's back.

It was embarrassing, especially at first, but they always seemed to get erections. They tried not to look, but couldn't quite keep from taking a peek from time to time. Natural adolescent curiosity. But they never teased each other, and they never spoke of it.

After their shower, after they were dried and dressed, a chore in itself since Draco never seemed to be satisfied with what Harry picked for himself out of Draco's wardrobe, the blond spent five minutes trying to tame Harry's hair. Finally he stopped and just looked at the messy black mass in consternation. "You know, Harry," Draco finally said thoughtfully, "I don't think it's your hair at all; I think it's the way it's cut."

Harry's cheeks turned pink. He didn't want to admit that he had cut his hair with pinking shears on threat from his uncle of his supper being withheld if it _weren't_ cut. Not that it did much good: he only ever got leftovers, anyway. He thought he'd got much better at cutting his own hair over the years, but he knew it still wasn't all that good. He'd had to start cutting his own hair ever since the incident when Aunt Petunia had cut it too short (so she wouldn't have to cut it so often), and he'd somehow re-grown it overnight.

"That's ok, Harry," Draco reassured him. "I was going to make sure you got your hair cut today, anyway."

Draco was as good as his word. After collecting the boys and checking them out with the headmaster, Mrs Malfoy took them to Diagon Alley, where Draco insisted that Harry's hair be the first order of business.

The stylist didn't instill any confidence in Harry, at all. She was a middle-aged witch whose robes were made of a material in an extremely bright, multi-hued pattern. Her hair was coloured and styled to match. However, Mrs Malfoy and Draco both assured him that she was very good at her job, and convinced him to sit in the high, cushioned chair.

After making much of 'the poor little orphan who saved us all', embarrassing and annoying Harry greatly, and amusing Draco in the process, she finally set to work. She began by circling him several times, looking closely at his hair and feeling of it, then set to work with scissors and wand. Twenty minutes later she was done. In order to correct the mess his hair had been in, the stylist had wound up having to cut it very short. "Well, that's the basics," she said. "Now! How long would you like it?"

That was a question that Harry had not been expecting. With almost a look of panic on his face, Harry looked at Draco, then at Draco's mother, seeking help.

Both blondes looked at him critically, Mrs Malfoy going so far as to mimic Draco and cock her head at him. She came to a decision long before Draco did. "Shoulder length, I should think," she said decidedly. "Or perhaps an inch or two longer. I think a ponytail would set his face off very nicely; don't you, Draco?"

Draco glanced up at his mother, then looked intenty at Harry, trying to imagine a ponytail on his friend. He nodded. "Yes, I think so - but not with those glasses."

Mrs Malfoy nodded. "Yes, we'll head there, next."

The witch performed the spell with a short wave of her wand, and just as when he was younger, his hair grew. But this time he was awake to see it. A few last touch-ups to the cut of his hair, plus a silver band charmed to stay where it was put to hold it back, and it was done.

Looking in a mirror, Harry liked what he saw, but... "My scar shows," he complained.

"Be proud of it, Harry," Mrs Malfoy told him. "It is a sign of your power. You survived, where others did not."

Draco looked on his friend proudly. He had been right; Harry did look much better with a proper haircut.

Harry was doubtful of Narcissa's advice, but with some urging from Draco, reluctantly decided to follow it. Even if he didn't feel proud of the scar, he could see where having a sign of power out where others can see it could be of use. Still, he had been teased and mocked so often because of it while he was growing up that it was hard to have it out in the open. However, he resolved that he would do it. It was stupid to be ashamed or embarrassed of something that he had no control over.

"_Now_" Mrs Malfoy said decidedly, "to the witch doctor!"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and apprehension, visions of African headhunters from the National Geographic his aunt subscibed to in his mind's eye.

Mrs Malfoy laughed at him. "To fix your eyes, silly."

That didn't allay Harry's fears at all, but he followed after her anyway, holding tightly to Draco's hand: a fact that didn't escape the blonde woman's attention. Neither did the fact that her son not only allowed it, but seemed used to it. She wondered if it was mutual, or if Harry was just insecure and her son willing to offer comfort to his friend. Then again, it was true that young friends would sometimes hold hands, and would grow out of it as they grew older.

The inside of the witch doctor's office was quite a surprise to Harry. It was clean, bright, and well furnished. The witch doctor herself wore robes in brick red and burnt orange.

After introductions, during which the doctor resisted the urge to exclaim over who her patient was, she turned to Harry and said, "May I see your spectacles, Mister Potter?"

Reluctantly, Harry took off his glasses and handed them to her.

The doctor, by the name of Doctor Spitzer, muttered a few spells over his glasses, then turned to him. "I need to do a few tests on your eyes, and then we shall see what I can do."

Harry nodded his acquiescense. She gently grasped his chin to hold his head steady, and cast what sounded like the same spells as she had cast on his glasses on first one eye, and then the other. She straightened from her half crouch and turned to Mrs Malfoy. "I don't know who last prescribed lenses for this boy, or when, but that prescription is totally wrong for him. Much too weak. However, I do believe that we can completely correct his eyesight." She didn't mention that it would be expensive, knowing that the Malfoys were one of the richest families in the wizarding world, and that they wouldn't notice the cost at all.

Harry spoke up. "How much will it be, please?"

Dr. Spitzer looked at him, and then back to Mrs Malfoy with a question in her eyes.

"It's my treat, Harry," Narcissa told him.

"Thank you, but I do have money," Harry replied. "You really shouldn't be spending yours on me," he added. One could tell by his demeanour that he didn't really think himself worthy.

Narcissa frowned prettily. The boy's attitude bothered her. "I spend more than this on a gown, Harry," she told him. "I would appreciate you letting me do this for you."

Harry looked at the floor, undecided. On the one hand he didn't want to be obliged; but on the other, Mrs Malfoy had just put him in the position that, to refuse, would make him look very rude and ungrateful, indeed. In the fullness of time Harry would learn graceful ways to get around such situations, but that time was not now. Draco squeezed his hand, encouraging him to accept the offer. With Draco's silent urging, Harry made up his mind. He raised his head and looked into Narcissa's eyes. "Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said.

Narcissa smiled at both boys. "All right, and now that's settled..." She looked to the doctor for further instruction.

Doctor Spitzer smiled. "I'll be right back, then," she told them, and then headed into a back room. In less than a minute she had returned.

"Now, Harry, I need you to drink this potion, and then I'll cast a spell on your eyes. You'll need to keep your eyes closed for the next five minutes, and then I'll do a few more tests to see if we got the results we wanted. Your eyes might burn and sting a little bit, but don't open them, no matter what."

Harry drank the potion, making a face at the terrible taste, sat through the bespelling of his eyes, and waited through the five minutes impatiently, squirming from time to time. And yes, there was some burning and stinging, but it was nowhere near as bad as some of the headaches he had, so he could bear it. And Draco sat close to him and held his hand, so it wasn't _too_ awfully bad.

"All right, Mister Potter," the witch doctor said when the time was up, "when you open your eyes I'm going to put in some eye drops to ease the sting, and then I'll do the tests."

The eye drops _did _reduce the pain and stinging - enough to allow his eyes to stop watering, anyway. And when the tests were done, Dr. Spitzer had a wide smile on her face. "Better results than I had expected," she said. "There might be some fluctuation in the next few days, but I expect when your eyes stabilise you'll have at least slightly better than normal vision."

Harry was looking at everything and everyone around him with a huge grin on his face, seeing clearly without his glasses for the first time in many years: and more clearly than he had with them, truth be told. Draco's grin rivaled his own, and if Mrs Malfoy hadn't been there the blond would possibly have been excitedly asking inane questions and dancing around Harry at the same time.

When they left, Harry left his glasses behind. The witch doctor could have earned quite a tidy sum by selling them, but they wound up in a glass case on her wall with a little brass plaque beneath them saying, 'Harry Potter's Spectacles'.

After that it was time for lunch. They ate in one of Diagon Alley's more exclusive eateries: a small, out of the way bistro where his meal was ordered for him. Harry ate some things that he had never even heard of before: most of which, he was surprised to discover, he actually liked! Although Harry was a bit embarrassed over his naiveté, he and Draco had a lot of fun discussing the food and everything that had happened so far that morning, with Narcissa looking on in amused tolerance.

The next stop was Madam Malkin's, where Harry was subjected to some of the most embarrassing measurements he had ever had done to him. It was even worse than the measuring he had received at Ollivanders where he'd been measured for his wand, or the measurements he'd been subjected to the first time he'd been at the clothiers, although that time he was only getting school robes. After being humiliated by the measuring, he'd had to try on over a dozen robes and what seemed like dozens of shirts, pairs of trousers, outerwear, shoes, boots, hats, and more.

Harry didn't understand why, since Mrs Malfoy set almost everything aside to be bought anyway. What's more, she still wouldn't allow him to pay for any of it. He was torn between feeling extremely guilty, and almost ecstatic that he finally had things of his own: no more hand-me-downs. But...

"Mrs Malfoy, please," Harry said, desperation in his voice, "I have money. I can't-"

"Pish-tosh, dear," the lady said dismissively, since the boy had said similar things several times during the day already - and then she caught sight of his face. She stopped what she was doing and turned to him, concerned. Harry looked miserable.

"This is really important to you, isn't it?" she asked.

"I really appreciate that you're doing this for me, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, "but it's really too much! First the haircut, then fixing my eyes - which I truly appreciate, by the way - lunch, and now this? Please, would you at least let me pay for my own clothing?"

Draco looked as though he was incensed. "Harry, we're quite wealthy and can afford it! Let us do this for you!"

Harry ignored his friend and merely looked Draco's mother in the eye.

When it seemed that Draco would again remonstrate with Harry, Mrs Malfoy raised a hand slightly, silencing him

Narcissa stood and regarded Harry so long that he was starting to fidget.

Nodding her head, she came to a decision. Calling their attendant over, she gave orders to set aside the items they had picked out to await their return, then took Harry's hand.

"Come along, Draco," she said to her son. "We're off to Gringotts."

Draco, who had been watching and listening to all this with growing irritation and concern, now smiled at Harry, hoping his friend would cheer up. He was rewarded with a small, abashed smile in return.

An hour later, Harry was wishing he had let Mrs Malfoy buy his clothing for him. The goblins had first asked Harry for his key. Hagrid had pocketed Harry's key after their last visit to the establishment, saying he would give it back into Dumbledore's possession for safekeeping. Upon learning this the goblins had, at first, told him that he would have to retrieve the key in order to access his vault.

Mrs Malfoy had first given her opinion of 'that meddling old fool', which had shocked Harry in itself, since it seemed so out of character with what he'd seen of the woman so far (although he tended to agree with her opinion), and then shown another side of herself which shocked him even more. She had become cold, businesslike, and demanding. Quite unnerving, to Harry. Although the Dursleys were far more demeaning and verbally abusive in manner, Mrs Malfoy's attitude came too close to theirs for his comfort. However it was effective, and a few minutes later Harry found himself in a separate room being tested by means and methods and spells that also had him quite bewildered and nervous.

"Look, I apologise for that out there," Harry said to the goblins who were testing him. "I don't think anyone should be treated that way."

The goblin who seemed to be in charge of the testing looked at him appraisingly, a cold look of disdain on its face. "A Muggle-born, are you?"

"No. Muggle raised, though," Harry replied, confused. To him, the question had come out of nowhere, and was appropriate to nothing that had been said before.

"They like those out there?" the goblin asked knowingly.

"No," Harry said, surprised and a bit offended.

The goblin smirked nastily, but before he could reply, Harry continued.

"Much worse, really. I rather like Mrs Malfoy, and Draco is my best friend."

The smirk disappeared as a look of surprise took its place. No more was said until the tests were done.

"Mister Potter's identity checks out," the goblin in charge, a Mister Hedblatz, said as they rejoined Draco and his mother.

"Then I expect Mister Potter's vault contents to be transferred to a new vault, and a new key issued him," Mrs Malfoy ordered imperiously.

"I beg your forgiveness, Mrs Malfoy," Mister Hedblatz said, "but are you Mister Potter's guardian?"

Instead of replying, she turned to Harry. "Who _is_ your guardian?"

The question had never occurred to Harry. "The Dursleys I suppose," he said doubtfully. "They _are_ my relatives."

"Do they have legal custody?" she asked.

Bewildered, Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"We shall find out," she said grimly, making a mental note to have Draco intensify the boy's training. Shrugging! This was not a matter to dismiss so lightly. "In the meantime, you need to ask who has control of your vault. They can't refuse you that information, at least."

Harry did as she requested, and was not surprised to find that Professor Dumbledore had control of his vault. It only followed, considering Hagrid's words. Again following Narcissa's suggestion, Harry asked if his family had any other vaults. He was very surprised to hear that there were two others, quite large. And Dumbledore had control of those, as well. When prompted to ask what deposits or withdrawals had been made from them, Harry was relieved to hear that other than the proceeds of investments being deposited, only small amounts were being withdrawn each month, marked as 'maintenance funds'. Harry assumed that meant him.

Although Narcissa didn't ask, she did wonder why the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have control of Harry Potter's funds if he wasn't Harry's guardian; and if he was, why had the boy been parcelled out to Muggle relatives?

Harry was beginning to wonder what Mrs Malfoy's interest in his vaults might be, so he was relieved when she did not ask how much was in any of them. Later, Draco told him that multiple vaults were only needed or used if the largest were too small to hold a person's or family's wealth and/or valued belongings.

Those weren't his words, of course. He said, "...if they're too wealthy for everything to fit in one vault." Draco also added that the Malfoys had four large vaults.

Harry knew that the one he'd seen was fairly small, and it had so much gold in it! So if there were two large ones... It was a shock to find out that he might actually be quite wealthy, after living in conditions of such abject poverty. Not the Dursleys - just him.

The goblins told Harry that a key would be owled to him in about three days' time. In the meantime, to tide him over until the key arrived, he was allowed to withdraw whatever he felt he needed. He would only be allowed to do so this one time until he received his key, unless he again underwent a thorough testing of his identity. He was also told not to lose this key, or there would be a substantial payment needed for a replacement. He was given a small leather bag in which to put any monies he wished to withdraw.

Knowing what to expect from his ride with Hagrid earlier in the year, Harry rather enjoyed the hair raising ride down to his vault this time. He presented the master key to the goblin who had accompanied them, made sure to get it back and put safely into his pocket, and then started putting galleons into the small bag. He had put several hundred galleons into the small bag that seemed as though it should only hold ten or twenty, and still it seemed only about half full.

"That's enough, dear," Mrs Malfoy told him. "One of those bags will hold well over a thousand galleons. Far more than you'll need."

Having not quite got the understanding of the wizard money system yet, let alone how things were valued here, Harry took her word for it, drew the drawstrings, and put the bag in his pocket. Back in the main building, he returned the master key to Mister Hedblatz.

Once back at Madame Malkin's, Harry paid about four hundred galleons for the clothing that had been picked out, including three suits in wizard styles and half a dozen dress robes, all of which were to be custom tailored and sent on later, along with under things, coats, jumpers, cloaks, and all the other accoutrements needed for sartorial completeness. Narcissa shrank the bags, and they Floo'd back to Hogwarts, winding up where they had started, in the headmaster's office.

They arrived to find the room abuzz with activity. No fewer than three wands were pointed at them as they stepped out of the fireplace. It was only when their identities had been confirmed that the three Aurors relaxed and put away their wands. It turned out that Professor Quirrell, the DADA professor, had been caught by Professors Snape and McGonagall attempting to steal something from a heavily guarded part of the castle: something very precious, and potentially dangerous in the wrong hands. The turbaned man had been stunned and trussed before being taken to Professor Dumbledore's office and questioned under Veritaserum, but had been taken to Azkaban several hours before they arrived. What Draco, Harry, and Mrs Malfoy had interrupted was an interrogation of the headmaster about what had been stored there, and why he felt that a building full of schoolchildren was a fit place to keep it.

Harry and the Malfoys were quickly ushered out of the room when it was found that they had only used the headmaster's office to Floo in from a day of shopping, and to check Harry and Draco back in with Professor Dumbledore.

Narcissa escorted them back to the Slytherin dorms and restored Harry's bags to their proper size. She kissed Draco goodbye on the forehead, shook Harry's hand and said, "It has been a pleasure to truly get to know you, Harry. I hope that we shall have another opportunity to meet."

Draco cleared his throat, his treble voice catching his mother's attention. "About that, Mother... I was thinking that perhaps I could invite Harry to the manor over solstice hols. He has only Muggle relatives who have their own plans. He was going to stay here over the holidays."

Mrs Malfoy's face was solemn, but there was amusement in her eyes as she said, "Well, we do have that matter of Harry's guardian to look into. If he has an official guardian we can ask his or her permission for Harry to stay. If he doesn't... Well, we shall cross that stream when we get to it."

Draco had written her weekly, and most of the contents of those letters had been about Harry, so she was well aware of his heritage. Harry was technically a half-blood, although in a bit of a gray area. Lucius, Draco's father, would normally not have seen Harry to be a fit companion for her son. However, as magically strong as the boy was, and that he was deemed a savior by most of the rest of the wizarding world, Narcissa was sure her husband would overlook that. If not, she could bring pressure to bear.

Showing great restraint, Draco stepped up to his mother and gave her a short hug. "Thank you, Mother," he said quite solemnly. As far as he was concerned, the matter was settled.

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend for acting like such a stuck-up prig. But turning to the blonde woman he said, "And _my_ thanks as well, madam," aiming a shallow bow in her direction. "I had a wonderful time, today. I'm sorry that I was such a bother."

"Nonsense, my dear. You were a delight to be with, today," was her reply. "And these clothes show you off so much better than your old ones."

Harry blushed in pleasure at what he perceived to be a compliment.

Draco closed his eyes briefly at her words. His mother never made social blunders like that without something being behind them. Unfortunately, Draco thought that she was trying to remind Harry of his place in the social order: which is to say, below them. The only reason he could think of for that was the discovery that Harry wasn't the poor little orphan boy they had thought he was. An orphan, yes, but not poor. Likely she thought that the discovery of that would give Harry ideas above his station. That, or she wished to remind his raven-haired friend that he was in their debt. Either way, Draco was quite upset with his mother, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it, especially after all she had done for them that day. And then there was the holiday visit to think about, and what she might still be able to do for Harry.

The headlines of the Daily Prophet the next morning screamed of scandal and a mystery at Azkaban.

'PRISONER ATTACKED BY DEMENTORS', read the headline. In the story it was revealed that 'Professor Quirinius Quirrell, late an instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and presumed to have attempted the theft of the Philosopher's Stone created by Nicolas Flamel, was spontaneously attacked and Kissed by Dementors after being left in their care at Azkaban. Upon investigation, Aurors were shocked to find a second face on the back of the former Hogwarts DADA professor's head, which face also appeared to have been Kissed.'

* * *


	8. Five Minutes: 5

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Five**

What with the arrest and subsequent death - at least as a person - of Professor Quirrell, Harry's new look received scant attention. Hardly anyone noticed. Most of those who did notice thought it looked good on him, but gave it little more thought than that before returning to the current hobby of speculating about Quirrell, his second face, and why the Dementors had attacked him and sucked out his soul. A mutually satisfying decision was never reached, but the debates themselves were very exciting and satisfying until the novelty wore off and other matters took its place.

Replacing the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor would take time, so in the meantime the headmaster himself stepped into the position: a solution Harry despised, since the old man seemed determined put Harry in the limelight. However, while Harry wasn't going to openly defy the man, he also made sure not to show abilities or knowledge above what any of his non-Slytherin year mates possessed, and even deliberately performed slightly below that, at first. He had reasoned that as someone who had been raised by magic-hating Muggles, he would be expected to be slightly behind those who had the advantage of a wizarding upbringing. Draco soon disabused him of that notion, saying it reflected badly on him as a tutor; so Harry brought his performance level up to only slightly below that which his friend showed.

Oddly enough, once Quirrell was gone, most of Harry's nightmares (except those having to do with his childhood) and almost all of his headaches stopped, the latter occurring only slightly more often than with any other pupil. But that didn't stop Draco from slipping into Harry's bed at least two or three nights a week. It would have been more often, but both boys knew that it wouldn't do to have rumours start up about them, no matter how untrue. They only got away with it at all because everyone knew of Harry's nightmares. He had been teased quite often about those until he had shared some of them. The telling alone had caused more than a few of his Housemates to have their own nightmares for a while, so nobody said anything about Draco giving Harry some company at night on occasion. Besides which, everyone knew they were too young to be lovers, despite the teasing. Since both boys slept much better when they slept together, neither of them were about to inform anyone else of the change of status of Harry's dreams.

Ron Weasley was one of the few who took notice of Harry's new looks, but only because he thought it would give him some ammunition against the boy, which he decided to use where the Slytherin's humiliation would be greatest: the Great Hall, during supper, when there were the most people present. "Oy, lookit here!" the redhead loudly called out in a snide tone. "Slytherin has itself a new girl! What happened, Potter; decided being a boy was too rough for you?"

"Whatever are you talking about, Weasley?" Harry inquired, a look of distaste twisting his features for having to interact with this... boor. However, a challenge like this could not be ignored; it would be bad for his standing in his own House.

"Only girls have long hair, you ponce!" the redhead replied triumphantly. Of course none of the males in his own family had long hair, so he thought that state of affairs to be 'normal'.

Harry looked around the Great Hall, noticing more than a few boys whose hair was quite long, not to mention the male instructors and the headmaster, whose hair was longer than anyone else'. He faced the loud-mouthed Weasley again.

"Do you ever consult that pea you call a brain before you open your mouth, Weasley?" he drawled with a mocking grin.

Draco copied Harry's action, and noticing the same thing Harry had seen, he snickered. "You must enjoy making a fool of yourself, Weasley," he sneered. "You do it often enough."

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ron looked around himself, but not before shooting a hate filled look at the two before him. He had been so anxious to put down his self-proclaimed enemy that he _hadn't_ thought before he spewed out the insult. With a hard knot growing at the base of his throat, Ron finally took notice that almost a third of the male upperclassmen had longish hair, and then with growing apprehension he looked to the head table to find that not a one of the male instructors had short hair, and that the headmaster was looking at him reprovingly over the top of his spectacles. Turning to his own table for some support, the young Weasley noted that few would meet his eyes, and those few only did so momentarily before they slid off to the side. Even his own brothers were looking embarrassed by him.

With a mocking laugh, Harry turned and walked to the Slytherin table, Draco and several other young Slytherins beside him all making their own comments about 'stupid Gryffindors', and other observations in the same vein.

Harry knew that the youngest Weasley boy would now find himself the butt of many a prank and joke, and possibly even be in for a bit of abuse, but he couldn't help but feel the need for a bit of personal revenge for the insult offered him. Nudging Draco in the seat beside him after the meal had been served, he said, "If Weasley is going to make a fool of himself, don't you think he should be wearing motley?" Draco sniggered at the thought as Harry concentrated, wiggling a finger and muttering a spell under his breath.

Across the hall the redheaded boy suddenly found himself wearing the costume of a court fool in green and yellow, with silver bells jangling and chiming as they hung from his hems and three-horned hat. Almost everyone in the hall burst into laughter as the boy turned bright red. He first looked across to the Slytherin table in suspicion, but no wands being in evidence, he began berating his twin brothers, Fred and George, who were protesting their innocence. Unfortunately it wasn't very convincing, as they were laughing as hard as everyone else.

"Oh, how rich," Draco chortled to Harry. "He's even blaming his own brothers!"

"Isn't it, just?" Pansy cooed, giving Draco a quick hug from her seat on the other side of him.

Draco gave her a look of askance, surprised distaste evident on his face. "I'll thank you not to wrinkle the clothes, Parkinson," he said in rebuke.

Undeterred, the girl just grinned at him and went back to her breakfast.

A feeling of disquiet twanged somewhere in Harry's gut, but Draco's reaction restored his good humour. He didn't understand his own reaction, so he just pushed it aside. His friend could tell her to shove off - or not - if he really wanted her to, and it really wasn't any of his business either way, he told himself. Still, Harry didn't much like the Parkinson girl hanging on Draco.

Draco slipped his wand out of his sleeve and, just the tip of it over the edge of the table, he muttered a spell of his own, turning the motley-clad boy's hair and freckles a bright, robin's-egg blue, in bright contrast to the costume.

"Bugger. I wanted violet," Draco muttered. Since he'd been trying to hide his action, he hadn't been able to be as precise with his wand movement as he'd have liked. Still, the effect wasn't bad: not bad at all.

Since the Weasley twins were trying to undo Harry's spell at the time, the younger Weasley assumed they were responsible for that as well, when one of his mates pointed out his new hair colour. He flew into a rage, going so far as to attack the twins, but was quickly subdued by them. Professor McGonagall reached them a few moments later and took control of the situation. Harry and Draco wished they could hear what was being said, but had to content themselves with the spectacle that was going on.

Harry had laughed out loud in appreciation of Draco's addition to the prank. His own spell wouldn't end for about eight hours, so the Weasley twins' efforts had been in vain, anyway. And with the insult Ronald had uttered, it was unlikely that any of the instructors - any of the male ones, anyway - would willingly assist him. The youngest Weasley could even change clothes, and those would change into motley as well. Even as he thought that, he saw the motley-clad boy making for the doors of the Great Hall as quickly as he could without running - likely to change his clothes. But since the spell was on him and not on the clothing... Harry snickered.

That was the first prank they played. Others came at irregular intervals, played mostly on those who had given one or both of them grief, but also on people innocent of wronging them. Harry didn't much like that, but Draco had pointed out that if they only pranked the guilty, people would soon figure out who was behind the incidents. Still, Harry insisted that they choose targets who were unlikable in some way, and prevailed in making the pranks on the innocent fairly minor ones. And to their amusement they found that the Weasley twins, who were infamous for their pranks, were, more often than not, blamed for _their_ pranks. And who, really, would suspect a couple of first year pupils of being capable of third year magic?

Although Harry had yet to catch up with Draco in that department, he had managed to learn quite a lot: not even a quarter of what Draco had learned, but quite a lot nevertheless. It wasn't easy, however. It meant two hours or more of extra study every night except Friday, when they took a break from the grueling schedule in order to spend more time socializing than they usually got, and six or more hours each weekend day, plus half of an hour here and there, wherever the time popped up. Sometimes it was more, more often it was less, depending on their patience, attention span, and how interesting the current subject might be. They _were_ just eleven after all, despite Draco's discipline and Harry's will to learn.

It helped that Harry was a natural at spell work. With that and the intensive training/tutoring schedule, he was learning much faster than Draco had anticipated, but he still had much to learn. The blond was all too aware that Harry seemed to be learning faster than he himself had, and seemed to be more powerful besides. But then Draco soothed himself with the thought that he hadn't had the sort of intensive training that Harry was getting, or himself as a tutor, either.

Harry still had a lot to learn about the wizarding world's customs, manners, holidays, and so forth as well, and was still lagging a bit with Potions, but he _was_ learning. Of course Harry kept cozening Draco into teaching him the fun things first, but Draco enjoyed them as well, so he was easy to convince. Still, Draco made sure that Harry learned at least as many of the more serious spells and hexes as the fun ones.

But the tutoring wasn't all one way. There was a lot of trial and error, but eventually Draco was able to do a wandless 'Lumos'. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and both of them were very proud of Draco. But with Harry catching up on his spellwork, they could cut back on the hours of tutoring and practice. And Draco, mostly through example, started teaching Harry the fine art of internal politics (putting into practice what his father had taught him), vying for positions of influence within their House. Due to spending so much time on Harry, Draco was far behind the goals he had set himself in that regard.

It was just a few days before solstice hols when something a bit out of the ordinary happened. Harry woke up with the pleasant 'tingle' - which always happened when he and Draco touched - feeling stronger than it normally did. Draco was cuddled up behind him with his hand wrapped around Harry's morning erection. Only Harry's silk pyjamas separated Draco's hand from Harry. It took a minute or two before Harry's sleep addled mind woke up enough to realize the situation. Totally embarrassed, Harry still noticed how nice it felt. Still, he had to try to find a way to get out of this without waking Draco. The blond would be totally humiliated if he found out what he'd done during their sleep. And even as nice as it felt, Harry kept hearing his uncle saying 'dirty little fag' over and over again in his mind.

Not that Harry had even considered sex yet, let alone whether or not he was more attracted to boys or girls. No, it was just that his aunt had caught him playing with his 'dangly' in the bath when he was six years old, and ever since then they had assumed the worst of him in that regard, too. At least they had made sex sound very bad, and had explicitly outlined exactly what type of people were the worst. In the Dursleys opinion 'fags' were even worse than 'whores' - although it had been a few years before Harry had found out what either of those were. But his uncle, and then his cousin Dudley, had always called him a 'little fag', their tone making sure he knew that it was the worst of the worst.

So a fag was a boy who had sex with another boy. Was Draco having sex with him? Somehow Harry didn't think so. But even if he was, it felt good. And if it felt good, why was it so bad? Then Harry considered who he'd got his information from. The Dursleys. Considering everything else he'd learnt from them that had turned out to be wrong, Harry figured this was just one more, and decided to ignore it.

Not as easy as it sounded. Just deciding to throw away ten years of conditioning (only five for the sexual guilt trips) was easy to do. As he found out almost right away, it wasn't so easy to forget. He still had his uncle's voice chanting 'dirty little faggot' at him, but it wasn't as strong as before, now that he was trying to ignore it and actively fighting against reacting in accordance with that voice.

But he still had no idea how Draco felt about it, and he didn't want Draco being embarrassed until he found out. The blond could be very difficult when he was discomfited about something. He tried just taking Draco's wrist and pulling the blond's hand away, only to have the light-skinned hand tighten around him. That made it feel even better, and he involuntarily pushed into the grip. But he persisted, and finally got Draco's arm firmly up around his waist instead - where it usually was when their positions weren't reversed. Then, and only then, did he roll over in place to face his friend - whose face, he found, was suspiciously red.

"When did you wake up?" Harry asked him, even though the blond appeared to be asleep.

Draco continued to mimic sleep.

Harry gave Draco's shoulder a little push. "Give it up; I know you're not sleeping," he accused. "You don't blush in your sleep, so you can stop pretending. When did you wake up?" he asked again, a bit more demanding, now.

Draco slowly opened his eyes, giving Harry a somewhat apprehensive look. "Are you angry?" he asked.

"Did you do it after you woke up?" Harry asked, ignoring the question.

Draco shook his head, denying it. The blond looked so sheepish, Harry believed him. He relented. "No, I'm not angry." He was going to leave it there, but curiosity got the best of him. "Why? After you were awake; why?"

"I don't know," Draco confessed in a small voice. He truly was confused about his actions, but he'd felt... like Harry belonged to him, somehow. But now he was scared that he'd ruined his friendship with the dark-haired boy, and he was upset.

Harry was in a quandary. He could leave it like this, and Draco would continue to feel bad, which might affect their friendship. But he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound stupid or condescending. After a brief struggle with himself, trying to push his uncle out of his mind, he quietly reached down and put his hand over Draco's crotch. "It's okay," he said.

Draco's eyes went wide in shock at the touch, but there was a little gratitude there too, as he recognised the gesture for what it was. Then Harry took his hand away. He hadn't been surprised to find that Draco was hard as well, but it felt weird to have his hand there. Nice, but weird. "We need to shower and get ready for class," the dark-haired boy said.

"Do you want to go first?" Draco asked, sure his friend wouldn't want to share anymore.

Harry gave the blond a look of disbelief. "Who'd wash my back?" he asked.

Draco grinned and gave Harry a tight hug, happy that things weren't going to change between them. How wrong he was.

"Do you want to touch it?" Harry asked of his erection in the shower a few minutes later. Draco was sporting one again as well. It wasn't an uncommon experience for either of them, but they'd always ignored it before now.

"What do you think I am, Harry?" Draco asked vehemently. He was scared. Was Harry going to think he was a joy boy that he could use when he wanted to?

Harry was confused by this reaction. "My friend," he answered frankly, "and I'm curious what yours feels like," he added. Being in Slytherin, that was a very dangerous thing to say, but he trusted Draco in a way he'd never trust anyone else in the House. He trusted that if Draco refused, at least he wouldn't use it against him in a public way, although he'd likely use it as a leverage point just between them.

Totally off-balance, Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, then looked down at Harry's erection, and blushed. He had to admit to himself that he did want to feel it without anything between them - just to see if it really did feel like his own, he told himself. Harry's was a little thicker than his, but a little shorter, too. Without conscious volition his hand was halfway towards the object of his curiosity before he stopped it, his eyes raising to Harry's, and quietly cursed himself. He'd just made a damning move. What would Harry do?

Harry smiled encouragingly and moved a little closer to the blond, reaching out to take hold of his friend's short length. It felt remarkably like his own, yet different. He felt Draco's hand grip his. It felt good, just like before. And again the 'tingle' strengthened. He moved his hand up it a little, then down, exploring the hard sponginess of the other boy, and the way the skin felt as it slipped over it. Draco emulated him. There was no real awkwardness, despite the newness, and the 'tingle' was even stronger with such intimate skin to skin contact. They looked up into each other's eyes, smiled shyly, then becoming self-conscious about what they were doing, went back to washing themselves.

And just in time, as Blaise Zabini walked in. Fortunately the other boy couldn't see anything, since each stall was equipped with a privacy door. But neither Harry nor Draco felt like exhibiting their 'stiffies' to anyone else, so they had to wait until those members subsided. During that time both boys, in their own minds, came to the decision that _**if**_ they ever experimented with each other again, it wouldn't be where someone might accidentally walk in on them.

Harry and Draco were both packed and ready a few days later when Lucius Malfoy arrived to take them to Malfoy Manor for the holidays.

"Good morning, Father," Draco greeted the man. "May I present my friend, Harry Potter?"

"Harry, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy," Draco continued, finishing the introduction.

"Good to meet you, Mister Malfoy," Harry said, with only a hint of nervousness showing in his manner. Inwardly, he was _very_ nervous. Until he'd come to Hogwarts he hadn't had many positive experiences with adults, his art and music teachers at his primary school being two of the few long-term positive interactions. And here things were quite strange. It was hard to discern just how anyone really thought of you.

"Draco," the tall blond man replied, merely giving a terse nod in Harry's direction after giving the scar on the brunet's forehead an intense look.

Lucius shrank both trunks, sneering at the tatty, battered appearance of Harry's, waited while the boys retrieved them, then rapidly stalked off, not waiting for either boy.

Draco gave his friend a rather shame-faced smile, and a shrug. "Come on then, Harry," he said, and both boys half-ran to catch up with the man. Once fairly close, Draco tried to emulate his father's stride, but kept having to break into a half-run every so often to keep up.

Harry tried to keep up as well, having to do the same thing as Draco, but finally stopped in the middle of the entryway. "Mister Malfoy," he called, and then ignored the apprehensive look and 'shushing' gestures Draco was giving him. Once the elder Malfoy had stopped and turned around to face him, Harry said, "I appreciate that you are a tall, strong individual; however, Draco and I aren't anywhere near our full growth, and are finding it rather difficult to keep up with you. If it's not too much trouble, sir, could you keep that in mind?"

After a long evaluation of the boy confronting him, staring at him coldly, as though Harry were an insect, a tactic which had made most _men_ become very nervous, Lucius finally spoke. "You are here, so it is evident that you have been keeping up with me."

Harry had not been unaffected by Mister Malfoy's cold stare, but he braced his knees and refused to back down. "It is undignified to have to run after you like dogs at your heels, sir," Harry replied politely, but firmly. He would miss spending the holidays with Draco, but the blond boy had taught him that one must maintain dignity, and he was determined not to let his friend down.

One of Lucius' eyebrows rose. Then, slowly, an amused smirk graced his lips. "Perhaps," he said, "you shall make a worthy companion to my son after all, Potter." Without another word, he turned around and again strode towards the exit, but this time at a slower pace.

Harry stood there, undecided as to whether or not he was still invited, until a grinning Draco grabbed his hand and silently urged him on. The boys still had to walk very quickly to keep up, but now they didn't have to keep breaking into a run at intervals.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to Claudia, rye encoke, and Ishe-Leigh, who have suggested some of the pranks that will be appearing in this story. (Even if I _did_ put my own twist on some of them.)

Due to some concerns voiced to me about Harry and Draco's early sexual experiences with each other, I offer this link to information about Child Sexual Development. http://www . ejhs . org/volume3/Haroian/body . htm (remove spaces)

* * *


	9. Five Minutes: 6

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Six**

Lucius Malfoy had ambivalent feelings towards the boy walking down the corridor with his son. On the one hand this boy had been responsible for the death of a charismatic leader when he was only one year old. On the other, his own attitudes had changed somewhat during the intervening years. Oh, he still despised Muggles, and felt that the Muggleborn presented a danger to their world through their connexions with their Muggle friends and parents, or in returning to the mundane world instead of staying with other witches and wizards, but when Lord Voldemort had started targeting purebloods, even with the excuse that they were traitors or a danger to the movement, he had started having doubts. Torture, and killing children just did not sit well with him, although in order to stay safe within the organisation he had done his fair share of that, as well. It was possible he had even been a bit overzealous in that regard. But he had rationalised that he had to keep his own family safe, so it had been better to be overzealous than seen as reluctant, and therefore suspicious. Since then, he had reconsidered his policies.

But that Harry Potter had not only been sorted into Slytherin, but had become his son's best friend was a development he never would have foreseen. Now that it was a fact, he wasn't quite sure what to do or think about it. The fact that his Dark Mark hadn't disappeared upon Voldemort's supposed death ten years ago was an indication that the Dark Lord hadn't truly died, despite all the evidence. It had even, for a time, darkened. However in the past month or so it had seemed to fade much more than it had in the intervening years. Was it now safe to hope?

And then the object of his thoughts had the temerity to stop him and complain about his pace. It had been irritating to have his thoughts interrupted, but the boy had a point; he hadn't taken their shorter legs into account. It was a nice turn of phrase, 'running like dogs at your heels'. Very amusing. It was at that point that he decided to give the Potter boy a chance.

~*~

The meeting with Mrs Malfoy at the manor had been much more friendly.

"It's so nice to see you again, Harry," Mrs Malfoy said warmly, shaking his hand. "You look quite a bit better since the last time I saw you."

It was true. Besides the clothing and haircut, Harry had been getting more to eat, and it showed. While Harry still ate less than most boys his age, not being used to having much, Draco had been urging him to eat more, including an afternoon snack, and Harry's body was slowly getting used to having the nutrition it needed. He'd put on about a stone*, maybe a bit less, and as a result his ribs and cheekbones were no longer quite so starkly evident, and there was a little more colour in his cheeks.

After ordering the house elves to take the boys' luggage to Draco's rooms, she led them to a small, tastefully decorated sitting room and ordered tea and biscuits to be served. She quizzed Draco about how he was doing in his studies, inquiring after Harry's progress as well (more out of politeness than real interest), while Lucius sat back and gazed intently at 'The Boy Who Lived'.

Harry felt like squirming under the man's scrutiny, but Slytherin House had trained him well, and he only gave the blond man an occasional glance, hiding his nervousness as well he could.

Narcissa noticed, but said nothing. Finally it was all over and she sent them on their way, telling Draco to show Harry around the manor, then get cleaned up for supper. She waited until both boys were well away before turning her attention to her husband. She had every intention of discussing with him Draco's friendship with the Potter boy, and making sure her husband would do nothing to interfere. Her little boy had been lonely and unhappy for far too long, and if the Potter boy was what it took to make her son happy, then the Potter boy he would have.

~*~

"These are my rooms, Harry," Draco said when they finally got there. He was happy to be home, and happy to have Harry with him. "Your bedroom is just over there, through that door," he continued, pointing at a connecting door on the west wall. "But we could share if you like," he said quietly, trying to act as though he really didn't care one way or the other. In reality he felt much more comfortable sleeping with the dark haired boy now than by himself - something he would never have dreamed of before. He had been used to sleeping by himself in his own bed, and would have kicked up quite the fuss about sharing anything with anyone before he'd met Harry, let alone something so intimate as a bed.

"I'd like that," Harry said, "but what of your parents? Will they mind?"

"They won't know!" Draco replied happily. "They almost never come to my rooms unless summoned by a house elf, and that only happens if I get ill. But I don't think Mother would mind. I'm not sure about Father," he added, with a slightly worried look. He shook it off. "But only Mother might make an unexpected call. Father summons me if he wants to speak with me."

Harry thought that rather odd, but as his own situation was so much worse, he had no room to say anything. He was just happy that Draco still wanted to sleep with him: there weren't so many nightmares of his life in Little Whinging, and it felt nice to cuddle with his friend.

~*~

"... and I will not have him growing up to be a morose, brooding, neurotic waste! Draco has shown more energy and joy in life since he met this Potter boy than I have seen in him since he was five years old! I will -"

"I grew up -" Lucius began angrily, interrupting.

"Having a grand time whenever you could escape your own father!" Narcissa retorted, interrupting in her turn. "You told me you hated him for ruining all your fun, and here you are, improving on the sour old bastard's methods, and being worse than he ever was!"

"I most certainly-"

"Don't try to pretend! You most certainly are. I let you train him, and what happened? He became quiet, mean, and twisted, his only means of 'fun' being to verbally torture the house elves."

"Well, now he has a friend, and he's acting more like a human being and less like a Dark Lord in training, and I like it," she continued. "He's only eleven, Lucius. Let him have what's left of his childhood. There will be plenty of time for him to learn his duties and his place in the world as a Malfoy. He needn't live it all day, every day."

Lucius Malfoy looked into his wife's angry, pleading eyes, and took the path of marital harmony; he nodded in assent to her wishes, then turned and escaped to his study. He would likely have been difficult just on principle, but the truth was that the Potter boy had rather impressed him, and he rather thought the lad might be a good influence on his son. Draco had shown an annoying tendency to be rather spineless. Lucius hoped Potter might strengthen it.

~*~

Harry soon learned that when within the Manor he was to comport himself with dignity. Narcissa, for a wonder, was quite the help there, to Harry's chagrin. He'd been hoping for some freedom to simply play with Draco, but alas, it was not to be. Mrs Malfoy caught Harry running in the corridors, trying to find Draco, and sat him down for a talk.

Although Draco had written her about Harry's formative years, she hadn't quite grasped how neglected the boy had been. As soon as she understood that, and Harry's deplorable lack of grounding in pureblooded wizarding ways (although Draco had done very well, for a boy of his age, in teaching Harry), she took it upon herself to start tutoring him. Even at this early stage she could see that the boys were very close. If the relationship developed as she thought it might, Harry would need to be able to fit in with the Malfoy's social circle.

She filled in some of the gaps Draco had left in Harry's social education, but to his gratification she was also able to answer almost all of Harry's questions about why certain things were done as they were, and not in any other. Mostly it came down to 'tradition', but there were a surprising number of things that actually had _reasons._ In a wizarding society it was wise not to insult or offend anyone; even the magically weak could find a champion or hire an assassin if they were influential or wealthy enough.

When Harry tentatively hinted at the way that Lucius, Draco, and a few other wizards acted, he was told that the Malfoys were both politically and magically powerful enough that anyone who was offended thought - not twice, but many times before quietly forgetting that anything had ever happened. Most others who tried to emulate the Malfoys were only fools, and didn't last long unless they were extremely lucky, or under the protection of the Malfoys, or someone equally as powerful.

But when Harry wasn't being tutored by Mrs Malfoy (Draco usually made himself scarce from these sessions), he and the blond ran pell-mell all over the estate, if the weather allowed. Otherwise they were in the stables (which housed more than horses), the owlery, greenhouses, or other covered sanctuary from the weather.

They did sleep together, and they did more 'exploring' of each other's bodies, as well. Although still tentative, they were starting to become more comfortable with each other and the activity, and the pleasure they derived from it by the time they had to return to Hogwarts. They'd even started giving each other little pecks on the cheek, although both were rather self-conscious about it.

It was rather touching, how that got started. They were lying in bed, having just finished an 'experimenting' session. They'd readjusted their pyjamas and had just settled down to sleep, cuddling, when Draco shyly gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. Not having expected that, Harry gave a little, sleepy frown. The kiss rather took their 'experimenting' into unfamiliar territory - something more than just friends fooling around with each other. Harry sensed that, but he didn't have a clue what it really meant. He decided that he rather liked it though, so Harry smiled gently at the blond, who was now watching him nervously for his reaction, then leant over and pressed his lips to Draco's cheek.

Draco would have to show him - several times - before Harry figured out how to kiss someone on the cheek properly.

But Harry's response had been just the right one to ease Draco's misgivings. Draco smiled, snuggled closer, and closed his eyes.

Harry almost gave it completely away on Yule eve when they exchanged gifts. Draco gave Harry several small things. They weren't special in themselves, but Harry wasn't used to getting anything at all from the Dursleys, unless it was a cruel joke of a gift. Harry was so overwhelmed that he nearly tackled Draco to the floor in a hug. As it was, he _did_ give Draco a very brief hug that was, perhaps, slightly overzealous. Draco's explanation of Harry's past calmed his parents' incipient suspicions for the moment, however, whilst Harry stood by, cheeks blazing.

Harry had given Mrs Malfoy a diamond-dusted platinum rose that was enchanted to go from bud to full bloom and back again in just over twenty minutes. During the course of a party it would be ever-changing. It could also be made to emulate the colours of different sorts of roses, for different occasions. He had been very lucky to see it when they'd gone to Diagon Alley, and was surprised by it's relatively small cost. She loved it.

Finding something for Mister Malfoy had been far more difficult, since there had been little to no chance for Harry to get to know the man. Even though he wasn't quite as taciturn as before, Mister Malfoy was still more inclined to silence than speech. When he did speak it was with a paucity of words, being short and to the point. In the end Harry had opted for a magical grooming kit that was focused on taking care of a person's attire, from a man's hat down to cleaning and shining the boots he wore. The man seemed to appreciate it, although Harry couldn't quite be sure.

But the most difficult was finding something for Draco: not because Harry didn't know him, although he learned something new about the blond almost every day, it seemed. No, the difficulty lay in the fact that Harry wanted the gift to be special, and personal, and appreciated. In the end he hadn't been able to find anything, or think of anything that lay within his ability to create, to give his friend. Finally he'd panicked as the day drew near and made a purchase, hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

When Draco opened the box to look at his gift he found his gift looking back at him. Suddenly it started purring, and Draco found the box abruptly empty as a weight appeared on his shoulder.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked Draco nervously, despite his startlement. He hadn't expected the animal to... do whatever it had just done. How had it gone from the box to Draco's shoulder without covering the intervening space?

"A dirl-cat?" Draco said reverently, with a nervous look at his father. The man's face was inscrutable.

"A dirl-cat?" Harry echoed, confused. "I thought it was just a kitten."

"A common cat would be dead by now," Lucius said coldly.

Harry didn't miss the animosity in the man's tone, and hoped it wasn't directed towards him.

"Dirl-cats, however, make good protectors. I suppose you may be allowed to keep it," Mister Malfoy said to his son with a sneer, "until you've learned to protect yourself." His tone made it clear that he thought little of his heir. He then swept out of the room, leaving his gifts behind for the house elves to deal with, not caring about the emotional damage he'd just caused.

Lucius wasn't a deliberately cruel man, but he was stern and rather cold - and a man of habit. It was the last that prevented him from seeing Draco in a better light. He had tried to train his son to be a good Death Eater during the years when he was fairly sure that Voldemort would be coming back, but his experiences with the boy - although Draco had tried to pretend in order to please him - had shown that the lad didn't have it in him. His resulting disappointment and fear for his son's safety at the hands of his master when this became evident had caused him to distance himself from the boy in order to minimise the pain he'd feel at Draco's death. Still, he and Narcissa had not been able to engender a replacement heir in expectation of that eventuality. And now that the danger seemed to be past, he was rather too entrenched in the habit of keeping his son at a remove.

Draco's face had lit up when he was given permission to keep the animal, and then dejection took the place of the momentary joy.

Harry was suddenly furious with his host. How dare he ruin this day for his son? But it wasn't Harry's place to say anything, so he choked back the words of recrimination that were fighting to get out. A glance at his blond friend had Harry's heart melting in sympathy. He knew all too well the feelings Draco was having now. Harry went over to the blond and hugged him.

Draco appreciated the hug, but he was all too aware that his father could come back at any moment. He gave a Harry a quick hug as a thank-you, then gently pushed the dark-haired lad away, glancing in the direction his father had gone, in explanation.

Harry was a little hurt by the rejection, but he understood.

Both boys had forgotten that Draco's mother was still in the room - a defensive skill the woman had long ago perfected - until she delicately cleared her throat. "It was a very thoughtful gift, Harry," she said kindly.

Harry shook his head in denial. "I should have thought to make sure it was all right, first," he said.

"It would have been wise," she agreed, "but dirl-cats are not common, and they _do_ make good protectors."

"What _are_ dirl-cats, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Rather fierce bond-creatures," Draco answered dully, now stroking his new pet's fur.

Narcissa took up the explanation when it appeared that Draco wasn't going to expand on his answer. "Draco's right; they're a magical cat species that choose their own masters, and bond with them. Draco is very fortunate that this one chose him, despite it being bought for him. Many are quite disappointed when their chosen pet chooses to bond with another."

"But what about that... disappearing/reappearing thing it did?" Harry inquired.

"That is part of what makes them so valuable. They have razor-sharp claws and teeth, and can teleport for short distances to, and around, any target, making it almost impossible to defend against. You never know from which direction it will be coming next. They are quite small, even when fully grown - smaller than your average house cat - and developed these abilities both for hunting and defence."

"Wow," Harry opined. "So if someone were to attack Draco..."

"They'd find they suddenly had a furious bundle of furry razor blades to contend with," Mrs Malfoy said, looking fondly at her son.

"What are you going to name it?" Harry asked his friend.

"Her name's Sasha," Draco replied.

"Isn't that a Russian name?"

Draco shrugged disinterestedly. "She chose it, not I."

"Huh?" was Harry's intelligent rejoinder.

"They're also slightly telepathic with their bonded, and a bit more intelligent than most animals," Narcissa put in, rescuing Harry.

_'Stupid human,'_ Harry heard faintly.

"What?" he exclaimed, confused.

"I said they're slightly-" Narcissa started to repeat, but Harry rudely cut her off.

"No, I understood that," he said apologetically, "but who said 'Stupid human'?"

The dirl-cat, which had been indolently washing a foreleg, again perched on Draco's shoulder, now had it's gaze fixed firmly on Harry, as did Draco.

_'It heard?'_ Harry heard, although the voice was still very faint.

"You heard?" Draco asked aloud.

"You heard it too?" Harry inquired.

"It was Sasha," Draco replied, confusion evident on his face.

"But... I thought it was only telepathic with its bonded?" Harry queried.

Draco looked the question at his mother.

"I've never heard..." the woman started to say hesitantly, before something occurred to her. But instead of following it up, she continued what she had begun to say. "... of it happening any other way."

Actually, there was _one_ way, but... surely not? Narcissa had thought the two boys' friendship had become close rather quickly, but she had seen such quick, close friendships happen between other children, so had shrugged it off. But with this development... She was going to have to keep a close eye on the situation between her son and this boy. If it were true - if Harry's telepathic sharing with Draco's dirl-cat wasn't just a fluke of nature... But such an occurance was so rare, and surely they were too young? She shook it off. There would be time to ponder it later.

Draco thought he had the answer, but he wasn't going to say anything. Harry was still too new to the wizarding world. He might not be able to accept it yet. Best to keep his suspicions to himself and let things develop as they would. Besides which, Draco wasn't all that sure himself, and if he was wrong he might ruin their friendship by bringing it up; especially since he was certain that Harry wasn't ready to hear it yet. He'd have to sound out Harry's attitudes towards such things by bringing up hypothetical situations in their discussions.

That night as they fondled each other, Draco was acutely aware of the 'tingle'. Now that he had an idea of what it might mean, it seemed to be even stronger.

Harry noticed Draco's distraction, but with the somewhat selfish single-mindedness of the young, he soon had Draco paying attention to business - that is to say, giving Harry pleasure while Harry did the same for Draco.

Neither noticed the dirl-cat perched on the footboard watching, with evident interest, the pre-teens fumble with each other.

By the time summer came around, the boys had advanced from shy pecks on the cheek to closed-mouth kisses, and their 'fumbling' with each other was now practiced mutual wanking. They'd even managed, a few times, to get each other to dry orgasm. After the first couple of times it was a goal they each tried for, both by themselves, and with each other.

~*~

Mister Malfoy had come through for Harry - for his own reasons, of course. Lucius was not a philanthropist, although he was known as one. Everything he did for others was for a reason, if only to bolster his image as a man of good standing. This strengthened both his social and political positions.

He had researched and found that, indeed, nobody had been legally assigned to be Harry Potter's guardian. The one person who would have had a legal claim, one of his wife's cousins, was locked up in Azkaban. Lucius knew the man was innocent, but Voldemort hadn't wanted his virtual slave to be unavailable, so a suitable patsy had to be found. It was fortunate for Peter Pettigrew that Sirius Black had unwittingly presented himself for the role. But Lucius wasn't about to do anything about it. Coming forth with the claim that Sirius Black was innocent would engender too many questions: questions that he couldn't afford to answer. Voldemort may or may not be permanently departed, but the Ministry would like nothing better than to confiscate the Malfoy vaults and properties, and an ex-Death Eater with a questionable past and vast resources was just the sort of target they liked.

After finding that none had a legal claim on the boy, Lucius had then made a call on the Dursleys, the only people who might claim a right to the Potter boy through blood relationship, armed with a quill, inkpot, and a document stating that Vernon and Petunia Dursley did now, and forever after, renounce any claim on Harry Potter for reasons of blood or for any other.

At first Vernon had tried to extort money from the blond man, and had even gone so far as to leeringly insinuate that Lucius wanted the boy for 'unnatural' purposes. A few stinging hexes later, the fat man had signed the forms without another insolent word being spoken. The Ministry wouldn't care that the signature was a bit shaky: only that it was genuine, should there be question of Harry's custody later.

Petunia signed proudly, giving a little sneer at her husband when he wasn't looking. While she loved the man and would defend him to anyone else who said anything bad about him, she was well aware that he could, at times, be quite stupid. You did _not_ insult someone from whom you are trying to extract money! It was only after 'that unnatural... freak!' had gone, that Petunia relaxed and allowed her fear - and relief to have escaped harm - to show.

After obtaining the quitclaim, and with his connexions in the Ministry, it was rather easy to quietly file the proper forms to have the boy become his ward. Usually someone as young as Harry wouldn't even be asked his opinion, but in order to be certain that he crossed every 't' and dotted every 'i', Lucius had made sure to have Harry sign the forms in those places where someone of a more reasonable age would have been required to sign. Although it made little legal difference, it put him in a better light socially that 'The Boy Who Lived' had obviously been willing to have the Malfoys be his guardians. Slurs against his honour now hadn't a leg to stand on, should they be made in this regard.

Dumbledore was incensed, of course. Even faced with a faít accompli, he tried every angle and pulled every string his considerable influence was capable of, but Lucius Malfoy had covered every angle and closed every loophole. The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had even tried to manipulate, and then vaguely threaten Harry with insubstantial consequences, should he pursue his intention of living with the Malfoys. But Harry had been warned that something of the sort might occur and held firm. In the end, the old man had no recourse but to accept the deed as done, and hand over all control of anything having to do with Harry.

~*~

If Harry thought that his first summer away from the Dursleys was going to be a carefree pursuit of pleasures yet unknown, he was mistaken. He, along with Draco, was given lessons in swordplay, unarmed combat, magic (including Dark magic), flying, and equestrianism (including riding thestrals and other magical animals), by instructors hired by Mister Malfoy.

In one other regard, at least, Lucius felt vindicated in his decision to become Harry's guardian; Draco was putting more effort into learning, having Harry to compete with. That, along with decreasing the Death Eater accusations and putting him in a better light with the rest of the wizarding world, which had been his main intent, made it worthwhile.

In addition, Narcissa Malfoy gave Harry advanced lessons in decorum and social interaction (how to tell the social class of a person and how to treat them accordingly), and hired an instructor to teach him dance. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Harry already had a passing acquaintance with the piano and art, and arranged to have him further tutored in those arts. Summer holidays were only just over six weeks though, so the music and art tutoring would be held during the school year, at Hogwarts. It was a common practise, since Hogwarts only taught the essentials one needed in order to take ones' place in society and the world in general, and a practise so taken for granted that none thought to talk about it.

Harry was thankful that 'Mum' (as she insisted he call her when not in public or in Lucius' presence) had not insisted that the arts tutoring be added to his already full summer curriculum. It gave him time to be with Draco to do things with him that _they_ wanted to do. They wandered all over the estate, explored the manor (including parts that Draco himself had never investigated - save the dungeons, which were off limits), and swum in the recently installed pool (eighty years prior) - Greek style.#

This was, of course, an activity of which Sasha greatly disapproved. The first time she'd seen the boys voluntarily enter the pool she'd followed them in, then quickly scrambled out when the water invaded her fur. She'd sat at the side of the pool licking herself dry, giving the boys nasty looks as though it was their fault she was wet, and raised a great fuss. It didn't help that both boys were in stitches, laughing at her. In all other activities she would always be close by, but after that incident, if they were in the pool, she'd stalk off and sulk.

They celebrated their twelfth birthdays - first Draco, then a month later, Harry. Draco lorded it over Harry for the whole month too, that he was 'a year older'. This often resulted in Harry tackling the blond and tickling him until Draco recanted his taunts of 'such a young one, you are' - which usually only lasted until Draco had caught his breath, before he started in again.

But to give the Malfoys credit, they treated Harry no differently than their own son. Draco only had more free time because he was no longer in need of most of the lessons his mother was giving Harry, other than dance. Harry _was_ given more in the way of birthday presents, but only because there were so many things missing from his wardrobe and other belongings that were considered essential. The largest, though by far not the most expensive, was a new trunk.

"It would reflect badly on us for you to need to use something as shabby as that old trunk of yours," he had been told.

The trunk had a permanent weightless charm on it (which actually only reduced its weight to about twenty pounds, no matter what was in it), and several compartments which would change size according to need; one for books, and others for toiletries, clothing, school supplies, miscellaneous other compartments, and it even had a small preservation chamber for food.

But the gift Harry loved most was the new broom.

"Your instructor tells me that you're a natural flyer, Mister Potter," Lucius told him.

Harry blushed slightly, for a couple of reasons. One was that he wasn't used to praise, and coming from Lucius, what he'd said was indeed praise. The other was from being called 'Mister Potter'. He had tried to get the man to be less formal with him, but Mister Malfoy insisted on being called 'Mister Malfoy' by anyone other than family (and although Harry was now his ward, he wasn't family), and also insisted that Harry learn to not only accept, but demand respect from others. Mrs Malfoy, fortunately, was much warmer and more accepting, and had readily taken to calling Harry by his given name.

"I haven't had a lot of trouble with it," Harry admitted of his flying, "but I don't think I'm all that good."

Lucius just looked down his nose at the dark-haired boy, and snorted - genteelly, of course. Although modesty was to be expected from those lesser than oneself, it was ridiculous in those with the potential to be one's equal. Although he'd never say so aloud, he thought his son might almost be acceptable if he had this boy's qualities. He rather suspected that Draco was a pouf: not that he had anything against homosexuals, per se, but if his son had to be a homosexual, he could at least be a strong, dominant one. However, that didn't seem to be the case.

With those thoughts, he looked at Harry in a new light. If Draco were indeed a pouf... The Potter boy was very close to his son. Could it be possible?

If Harry had been aware of Lucius' thoughts, he would have been both incensed and alarmed. He would have been angry on his friend's behalf, because he thought Draco was quite strong indeed, and alarmed that anyone might suspect that he and Draco were more than just very good friends. It wasn't something he had put in concrete terms, even in his own mind, but he rather vaguely suspected that maybe he and Draco were becoming something just a tad bit more than even the very best of friends.

* * *

* A stone is equal to fourteen pounds.  
# Greek style - nude

* * *


	10. Five Minutes: 7

_**Five Minutes**_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Seven**

It was now two months since they'd returned to Hogwarts for their second year. Draco's political manoeuvrings were slowly starting to pay off in respect and deference from most of the third years and below, although sometimes Harry wondered if it was because of Draco's political manoeuvrings so much as Greg and Vince' intimidating bulks always being with him.

Harry didn't consider for a moment that his own presence might have any influence, but Draco knew it to be so. Draco was a genteel aristocrat who knew how to manipulate. Harry radiated power, and even at just twelve years old he could be a little intimidating, without ever meaning to be. Not that it was obvious. It was, in fact, quite subliminal. But to Draco, who was around him more than most, it was almost obvious. Draco thought that - come fifth or sixth year - Harry was going to be a force to reckon with. The thought created a pleasant tension in him.

Harry's lessons were going on apace, but with the addition of the private art and music lessons, and dance lessons from Madame Trentakoff with Draco once a week, he had even less free time than before. Fortunately Narcissa had been able to schedule those lessons to fill the so-called 'free' time in Harry's school timetable instead of taking up his evening hours, which were needed for his homework and study time with Draco. Even so Harry found time, sometimes with Draco's aid, to socialize and go flying.

It was during one of Harry and Draco's flying sessions that they were spotted, and watched, by their Head of House. That evening Marcus Flint told them, in no uncertain terms, that they were trying out for the Slytherin Quidditch team Thursday evening. The next day Snape was quite short with most of the members of his House, even going so far as to take House points when it was warranted. He was quite wroth that none of them had reported the two Second Year's flying skills to him.

After their tryouts, Harry wound up being their new Seeker, and Draco took over one of the Chaser postions. It was all Harry could do to keep his friend's swelled head under control - no mean feat, since he was also trying to keep his own pride under control as well.

Watching the two boys, one of which he was supposed to guard, Vince shook his head. He and Greg had watched the relationship between Draco and Harry developing; and although the pair were pretty good about putting up silencing spells nights, they _had_ forgotten, a time or two. But he and Greg had a pretty good thing going, and weren't about to spoil it by tattling the tale to anyone else. That didn't mean that he and Greg didn't enjoy gossiping about it between themselves, though.

One evening Draco overheard Vince and Greg quietly sniggering together in their shared room. After creeping closer and listening for a couple of minutes, he'd figured out that the topic of conversation was he and Harry, and how passionate they'd been the night before. Angry panic filled him. Nobody could find out! He - they - he and Harry - would become the object of lurid gossip and rumours. And what if his father found out?

He hexed both of his bodyguards with stinging curses, then began threatening them with everything he could think of, should the two open their big gobs on the subject, not hearing the large boys' protests.

It was this scene that Harry walked in on just a minute later. Instead of immediately jumping in to calm the blond, Harry listened for a while to try to find out what was going on. All he could figure out was that Crabbe and Goyle had found out something that might be damaging to Draco, and Draco was trying to terrorize them into keeping quiet about it. Insofar as he knew, however, there was only one thing that might have his friend in such a panic.

"Draco!" Harry yelled.

Draco's angry eyes darted around and landed on Harry. "They know!" he exclaimed.

"What do they know?" Harry asked, trying to confirm his guess.

Draco looked at him, unable to bring himself to say it in front of his bodyguards. But his eyes spoke volumes, and Harry nodded before turning to the other boys.

"Do you have a problem with that?" he asked them.

It was almost comical to watch Vincent and Gregory's vehement denials. If it hadn't been potentially so personally disastrous a situation, Harry _might_ have laughed. As it was, he was unmoved.

"So what's the problem?" Harry asked Draco.

Draco's strained whisper was only barely audible. "If they tell... "

Harry looked at the two large boys. Draco had a point. That could cause all sorts of complications, including the possiblity that he could lose his newly-found home with the Malfoys. He wished he knew a memory charm, but so far none had been taught him.

"We wouldn't," Vincent avowed, his eyes darting from Harry to Draco and back. "Your father," he continued, now speaking to Draco, and then he trailed off, with a shrug. Everyone knew that it was unhealthy to cross Lucius Malfoy. And although he'd been less than impressed with 'the new lad' when Harry had first shown up, he and Greg had recently noticed something 'a bit off' about Harry, and had become just a bit more wary of him as well.

You could almost see the tension draining from Harry - and it was only at that point that one realized that Harry had been less than completely calm and unconcerned.

Draco was torn. On the one hand he had been shown up to have over-reacted, and his pride was bruised. On the other... No, his pride was definitely hurt. But Harry _had_ been rather masterful, and it seemed there was no danger after all.

That wasn't going to keep Draco from having a snit, though.

~*~

That night Draco was feeling rather badly about taking out his embarrassment on Harry. It was a very unusual feeling for him. He wasn't used to feeling guilt. It was even worse because Harry had made a point of inviting Draco to sleep the night with him. It had taken the blond a while to get to sleep that night.

He and Harry rarely bothered with night clothes any longer - at least not when they slept together. Not only did their combined body heat keep them quite warm enough without pyjamas, but the 'tingle' they felt whenever they touched seemed to be stronger, the more skin they had in contact.

"Oh, Draco; that feels so good," Harry moaned, after getting over his shock. He had woken up to the feeling of something warm and wet surrounding his 'woodie', and making him feel _really_ good. Upon investigation he saw a blond head of hair hovering closely over his crotch and made the logical deduction; not that he'd been feeling all that clear-headed by then.

Draco had finally given in to an urge he'd been feeling for weeks now. He didn't know what came over him to do it, except that Harry's erection held an attraction for him, and he'd been growing increasingly curious what it would taste like. Yes, his guilt of the night before may have had something to do with it, but not much. And this morning there it was, and he hadn't the will to resist anymore. It wasn't anywhere near to being a mouthful, but it felt so satisfying to suck on it.

After bringing Harry to a shuddering climax (still dry), Draco waited with a bit of trepidation for Harry's reaction. What they'd done up until this point was something many boys in boarding schools did with each other, most often minus the kissing, but what he'd just done to Harry pushed the limits of what was acceptable. So he was pleasantly surprised, although he told himself he shouldn't have been, when Harry pulled him close and started kissing him.

"Does this mean you want us to be boyfriends?" Harry eventually asked, after working out in his own mind how he felt about it.

Actually Draco hadn't thought that far, but as he pondered the question he realised that yes, that might be exactly what he wanted. Harry's reaction proved that he wasn't against the idea, so, "If you do," Draco cautiously admitted.

"Done," Harry stated.

Draco snuggled into the dark-haired boy, trying to get even closer, a rather dreamy smile gracing his face.

"Mew," Sasha complained. She'd waited quite patiently while the two had their fun, but she was tired of being ignored.

"Oh, you want some attention too, do you?" Draco said happily, reaching for the dirl-cat. He lifted her from her position near the end of the bed to lie between he and Harry, leaving as little room as possible between he and his newly-declared boyfriend. Contrarily, Sasha decided she didn't like the close quarters and climbed out of the tight space, settling in on Draco's hip, instead.

Harry was just as happy she'd moved, as now he could get closer to Draco again.

The alarm spell sounded only moments later, and both boys sighed.

"Time to get up," Draco said sadly.

"Only for you, you vain thing," Harry teased. "I have another half-hour."

Draco pouted. "You're not going to shower with me?"

Harry considered, weighing the benefits of having Draco wash his back versus lying abed awhile longer. The latter sounded far more tempting, but Draco _had_ woken him in a particularly nice way... "Okay," Harry moaned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and reaching for his pyjama bottoms.

Since Sasha had just settled in, she wasn't particularly happy about being disturbed. But Draco had taken the time to make sure she understood about school, and he and Harry having to go to classes to learn. She thought it was boring and silly, but she understood.

"And I'm _not_ vain!" Draco added. "Perfection intimidates," he said primly.

"Keep telling yourself that," Harry laughed, as he pulled on a dressing robe and followed Draco to the showers.

Draco had satisfied his curiosity with that morning's sexual adventure, and although it had been somewhat nice, it would be awhile before he repeated the deed, or Harry returned the favour. They happily satisfied themselves with each other with kissing, their hands, and frottage.

~*~

"Oy, Malfoy!" a voice called out, halting Harry and Draco's progress towards the Great Hall, and breakfast.

Harry sighed. "Weasel?"

"Weasel," Draco confirmed.

Almost as one, they turned to face the redhead.

"This doesn't concern you, Potter," Ron Weasley said snottily, with a half-way sneer.

"Really, Weasley," Draco said in a bored tone. "And you have the temerity to call yourself a pureblood? Your manners are sorely lacking. Are you a disappointment to your mother, or are all Weasleys so boorish?"

Harry had wanted to retort to the snotty Gryffindor, but Draco had beat him to it, and cut him off. Now he couldn't do so without treading on Draco's proverbial toes, so he merely stood there, glaring coldly at the redheaded boy.

The young Weasley hadn't come alone, _or_ unarmed. Gryffindor or no, he wasn't _so_ brave as to go up against his self-appointed enemies on his own. Harry recognized the Irish boy from first year, although he was looking quite reluctant to be there. Both boys had their wands in hand.

"Go bugger yourself!" Ron retorted, his fist gripping his wand tighter.

Draco raised one aristocratic eyebrow. "That would be an interesting feat, wouldn't it?" he said, making himself sound faintly intrigued.

Harry had trouble keeping a straight face, and almost snickered at Draco's come-back. But despite his enjoyment of Draco's banter, he kept a close eye on the Gryffindors.

He could see that Draco's indolent posture was a sham as well. His friend was poised to dodge a hex, and he'd moved in such a way as to disguise the retrieval of his own wand from his robes. Harry probably didn't need his, but he wasn't so confident of his wandless abilities as to try to do without it in a confrontation, so he tried to emulate his friend. He wanted to keep his abilities with wandless magic hidden as long as possible - not that they were totally reliable, yet.

"But physical impossibilities aside, Weasley, what is your purpose in accosting me in the corridor?" Draco continued.

Ron's face was quite red now, and it seemed as though he'd forgotten his original purpose, unless it had been to harass the blond. "Now!" he shouted, raising his wand. Seamus hesitated, then started to raise his own wand.

But that's as far as they got. Harry's _'Impedimenta'_ and Draco's Jelly-Legs Curse sounded a split second before the Gryffindors' hexes could be cast. Ron's curse went wild, and Seamus aborted his own efforts before they were properly begun.

Sasha appeared out of thin air just before Ron hit the wall, and was knocked out as his head hit unyielding stone. She stood there hissing and spitting at an untouched Seamus. Harry and Draco had both targeted Ron.

Seamus, having aborted his spell before it could be cast, stared at the baby dirl-cat and then started laughing. "A... a kitten?" he exclaimed.

"Even a young dirl-cat isn't something to laugh at," an affronted Draco replied.

Seamus stopped laughing, but his amusement hadn't dissipated altogether. "What's a dirl-cat?" he inquired. Seamus was a half-blood and his mother, in deference to her Muggle husband, had only taught Seamus the essentials of wizarding life.

"A teleporting bundle of furry razors," Harry replied succinctly, "and she's bonded to Draco."

"It's magical?"

Harry gave the Gryffindor a look. "No. All house cats are like that," he replied with light sarcasm.

"I was just asking," Seamus muttered, his cheeks tinting. Then he looked up at the Slytherin boys. "I'm sorry about this; only Ron _can_ be a bit overwhelming."

Harry and Draco exchanged looks, then looked at the unconscious redhead. "You'd best take him to Pomfrey," Harry suggested, jerking his head at Weasley.

"Very clumsy of him, tripping on the stairs like that," Draco added.

Seamus looked at the blond a bit queerly, then his expression cleared as he caught on. "I suspect that Peeves making that loud noise might have startled him and caused him to have a misstep," he agreed.

"And when he wakes up and tells _his_ story?" Harry inquired of them both.

"He often tells us his revenge plans and dreams," Seamus replied after some hesitation. "That knock on his head must have set off a particularly vivid one."

Harry and Draco both snickered. "You're not half bad, Finnigan," Harry said through his snickering. "I think we'll let you go, for this."

Seamus looked a bit confused, but let it pass. _He_ was off the hook, anyway.

Draco looked at Harry as though he wanted to argue the point, but then shrugged and let it slide. The Irish boy _hadn't_, after all, actually done anything. He'd just been there. Draco was a little disappointed, however. He'd had a particularly clever prank planned. Maybe they could use it on Weasley, instead.

Harry handed Ron's wand to the Irish boy, cast a weightless charm on the redhead, and sent the two on their way.

After soothing the apologetic dirl-cat, who had been napping after having had her own breakfast and therefore wasn't alert enough to sense the danger to her master in time to be there before anything happened, Draco turned to his boyfriend. "Getting soft, Harry? _They_ attacked _us_."

"No sense in making unnecessary enemies, Draco," Harry replied. "Come on; it's too late for breakfast, now. Let's go to class."

"The Weasel's mine, next time I see him," Draco promised darkly.

Harry nodded. "He's still fair game," he conceded.

Draco told Harry of the plan he had. Harry added his own suggestions to make the redhead nervous.

For the rest of the day, whenever they saw the most hot-headed of the Weasleys, Harry and Draco, as planned, smiled sweetly at the boy. By the end of the day you could almost see Ron Weasley's nerves twanging, he was so paranoid. But revenge is a dish best served cold, and the denouement would wait a few days.

~*~

"So when were you going to ask me to the Halloween Ball, Drakie?" Pansy inquired in a sickeningly-sweet coy manner that evening after classes, as she plopped herself down on the arm of the stuffed leather chair Draco was sitting in. Once there she leant into the blond, almost draping herself over him

Harry stiffened, his face becoming even more stone-like than was now his wont when they were in public. But he wasn't going to say or do anything unless it became necessary. His and Draco's tentative relationship as boyfriends wasn't exactly public knowledge, and they wanted to keep it that way. They weren't yet powerful enough either magically or politically to be free of social repurcussions should their relationship become known. And Draco was capable of taking care of himself. But if Parkinson became too much of a problem...

Draco looked coldly at the girl. "When did you become delusional, Parkinson?" he asked, his voice colder and harder than any twelve-year-old's should be. "Because I don't recall our ever being more than civil with each other. In the first place, I don't even allow _Harry_ to mangle my name as you just did, and he's my best friend. Secondly, your familiarity is far from welcome."

Pansy just giggled. "You're so funny, Drakie," she simpered. "I know you like me."

Draco brusquely pushed her off himself and onto the floor, then stood and glared down at her. "Whatever gave you that idea?" he asked, ice dripping from every word.

Doubt finally entered Pansy's mind, and she looked over at Theodore, confused. The triumphant, amused smirk on the skinny boy's face told the tale and she flushed, now totally humiliated.

Harry tried to stifle his laughter - although several others within earshot didn't bother to hold it back - but his muffled 'coughing' didn't fool anyone.

Pansy looked at Theodore in shock, and then her face slowly suffused with anger. She had spent _hours_ flirting with, and simpering at Draco - actions that she considered investments towards eventually snagging a rich, influential husband. If the blond's expression was anything to go by, she had now blown any chance she might ever have had with him - and she wasn't going to let her humiliation go unpunished. She pulled her wand from her robes and cast the Bat Bogey Hex at the weedy-looking boy who had set her up for this humiliation.

Not that she was satisfied with the one hex. Over the next week Theodore seemed to become very accident prone as Pansy hit him with a tripping jinx or other hex whenever it might cause him harm or embarrassment. Theodore wasn't one to take such treatment lying down, however - code of the gentleman or not - and the two paid quite a few visits to Madam Pomfrey.

Finally Harry decided enough was enough, and for the sake of House unity took Pansy, as the original hurt party, aside.

"Look, Parkinson, you're not a bad sort, but you do have a way of coming on a bit strong," Harry began tentatively. He hadn't a clue how to talk to girls, so he was a bit nervous.

Pansy looked at the dark-haired boy curiously. "I need to be more subtle?" she asked, a predatory gleam coming into her eyes.

Warning bells started ringing in Harry's mind. "Ahm... "

"Do _you_ like me?"

Now the alarums were pealing madly. "You'd make a good friend, I think," he said, barely keeping a full-blown panic at bay.

"Oh." Pansy looked a bit let down, and her eyes dropped. "D'you think I might still have a chance with Draco?" she asked, again meeting his eyes.

Harry grit his teeth, his case of nerves now forgotten. "Not in that way, I wouldn't think," he said, trying hard to sound neutral.

"Does he talk about me?" Pansy asked, persisting.

"Only of how your attentions annoy him," Harry replied bluntly.

"I... I thought he was just being shy," she confessed in a bewildered fashion.

"Draco? Not much, he isn't," Harry denied.

A tear appeared in Pansy's eye. "I see," she said softly.

The girl's obvious distress softened Harry's heart. "Look, Parkinson-"

"Call me Pansy," the girl said softly, interrupting.

"Why?" Harry asked warily, again on his guard.

"I think you might make a good friend, too."

"Um... Thank you," Harry said, trying not to sound nervous. "Anyway-"

"You don't have to try to make me feel better, Harry," she said, taking the liberty of using his given name, even though he hadn't given her leave, "but thank you." With that she turned and made for the girl's dorm.

"Park- Pansy!" Harry called after her. When she turned around, a sad look of curiousity on her face, he said, "I originally meant to ask you to call off your feud with Nott. He only did it because you were so obvious, I think. Perhaps he's jealous?"

Pansy screwed her face up in distaste at the thought, but nodded. "Maybe," she said. "I'll consider calling a truce, anyway." And then she disappeared into the corridor to the girl's dorms.

Harry shook his head at her retreating back. She really aughtn't make that face; it only reinforced her unfortunate resemblance to that breed of dog known as a pug.

~*~

A very self-satisfied Harry lolled on his bed. "I think I've solved your Parkinson problem for you," he said to Draco, who was reading whilst sprawled on his own bed.

"Oh?"

"Quite. I took Parkinson aside to try to nip her feud with Nott in the bud. She actually thought I was trying to chat her up!"

Draco sniggered at him, but there was a tiny gnawing in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

Harry wrinkled his nose at his boyfriend in response, then continued his tale. "Anyway, she tried to pump me for information on getting close to you. I told her you were only annoyed by her."

"Too right!" Draco interjected.

"But I finally got her to at least think about calling off her vendetta."

"And?"

"And what?" Harry asked, knowing full well what Draco was driving at. Draco's pillow hit him with all the force of Draco's arm.

"Is she going to give it a rest, then?"

"I just told you she said she's considering it," Harry replied with asperity, while being deliberately obtuse.

Draco wasn't fooled, and launched himself at Harry, tickling, wrestling, and pinching him. "Is... she... going... to stop... _plaguing_ ... me?" he asked his now laughing, writhing boyfriend.

"YES!" Harry yelled through his laughter.

Draco stopped his attack and dropped down next to Harry, panting, but satisfied, and feeling triumphant. It didn't last long.

As Harry started to get his breath back, he added, "I can't promise that, really. She didn't say so in so many words, but she seemed discouraged enough to quit."

Draco groaned, rolled over, and hid his head in Harry's shoulder.

* * *


	11. Five Minutes: 8

**_Five Minutes_**

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Eight**

The new DADA instructor was a joke. Harry had tried to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but the overly handsome, yellow-blond man outdid anyone Harry could ever think of having met or heard of, insofar as hubris was concerned. Their book lists for the class should have given him the first clue, as it included every book the man had written. Then the classroom had been 'decorated' with several moving portraits of the man posing and flashing wide-mouthed smiles that exposed his perfectly white teeth. In short, Gilderoy Lockhart was a self-important, egotistical fop who could have given the mythical Greek figure Narcissus lessons in self-love.

It hadn't taken too many lessons to reveal that the new DADA professor was also a braggart and a phony, but for some reason - probably the man's good looks and smooth tongue - none of the girls could see it. Unfortunately the man's reputation and his skill with story telling seemed to blind many of the boys to the new professor's shortcomings as well.

What Harry couldn't understand was how Minerva McGonagall had been taken in by the man. Harry's regard for Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, had become rather jaded in his first year, so the fact that he'd hired Lockhart was just one more point against him. But Harry had thought better of the stern woman who was the Deputy Headmistress and the Transfiguration professor. But perhaps she, too, had been blinded by the berk's bright smile?

It had come to the point, however, that he and Draco had decided to pay only enough attention to Lockhart to know what they needed to study to pass the class, and worked on their own, otherwise. Unfortunately most of what Lockhart wanted them to study was Lockhart. The man _did_ mention other things in his class, but he was quite stuck on himself. But then, that's already been mentioned.

Harry and Draco studied the Dark creatures that Lockhart occasionally mentioned, but ignored what he had to say about them, preferring to research the creatures and how to deal with them on their own. The information thus garnered was far more accurate.

The one thing that Lockhart came up with that the boys _did_ appreciate was the Dueling Club. The man himself was laughable, of course. Professor Snape, who had been co-opted by the headmaster to co-head the club, beat the man in their demonstration duel without even trying. The disarming spell the potions master used had sent the foppish DADA professor flying backward more than ten feet. Still, the idea was a good one, and though the club itself only lasted for that first meeting, a few good spells were learned - the Expelliarmus spell in particular. Snape's use of that spell against Lockhart had proven _most_ illuminating.

Later, in their own room, Harry and Draco had a good laugh as they watched Greg and Vince re-enact the duel. Draco had almost waxed poetical in his scorn of the niceties that Lockhart had emphasised. "All that wand flourishing is good for is giving your opponent time to kill you," he had said in another of his 'Father says' quotes.

As sick as Harry was getting of the 'Father says' quotes, in this case he had to agree. If you needed to cast a spell, do it in the most efficient way possible and get it over with. Don't mess about. He'd learnt that lesson the hard way when he'd decided to get fancy with one of their pranks. However, Harry had managed to convince Professor Flitwick that it was the first time he'd tried to pull a prank; and although five points had been deducted from Slytherin, he hadn't had to serve a detention.

When the Dueling Club had been discontinued, several Slytherins had decided to initiate their own version of it in secret. Harry and Draco joined it, of course. Learning new spells and how to cast them was one thing: using them against another wizard or witch was another, and was valuable experience. Plus they were very familiar with each other's moves and reactions by now, so they needed to test their skills against unknown opponents. They were also reluctant to use their full power against each other, fearing to hurt each other. They didn't have quite the same concerns or compunctions where other people were concerned.

Unfortunately, even when Harry complained to Dumbledore about Lockhart's total inability as a lecturer during their weekly meetings - giving painfully detailed examples - Dumbledore refused to let the teacher go, citing a lack of replacements as his reason.

Harry rather thought they could teach _themselves_ better than Lockhart could teach anything - even breathing to the living.

~*~

While sitting in Lockhart's classes might have been a total waste of time, Harry's other, extracurricular lessons were going on apace.

Since Draco had so much more dancing practice and therefore more dancing skill than Harry, Madame Trentakoff had assigned Draco the task of being Harry's dance partner while Harry learned to lead. Draco had kicked up a bit of a fuss at first for being made to 'play the girl', but eventually, and grumbling all the while, he acceded. But if Harry hadn't a clue how to dance and be the lead, Draco had problems letting go of the habit of leading, and learning to allow Harry to call the moves. Eventually however, although neither was totally proficient in their role, both had learned enough to not embarrass themselves.

And Draco learned to trust Harry even further than he already had.

The Halloween Ball was just getting started as Harry and Draco entered. Although both were spoiled for choice, they'd decided that they'd attend stag. Each of them however, in their own minds, pretended that it was rather like a date with each other.

Since robes were not mandatory for this dance, both had opted for wizarding finery. Harry wore snug, calf-height black boots, dark green felt trousers that moulded to his body down to the knee, a burgundy silk shirt, gold coloured waistcoat, and a bright green Bolero style jacket.

Draco wore tan boots, tan satin trousers, a white silk shirt with dagger lapels, a gold-coloured waistcoat, and a cream-coloured evening tailcoat. The only nod he gave to colour was a single red rose in the lapel of his coat. Both boys had opted to do without a tie of any kind, giving their ensembles a rakish insouciance.

He and Harry made quite a stir among the younger crowd when they walked in together. But if they thought that going without dates meant they'd be free to enjoy the dance without female company, they were soon disabused of the notion.

"Nice outfit, Potter," Pansy said as she sauntered up to them in her pink silk gown. There were entirely too many ruffles, but Pansy seemed happy with it.

"Thank you. You... er... You look quite different as well," Harry said.

Draco's raised eyebrows told Harry that his comeback was rather lame.

"Nice music, too," Pansy hinted, ignoring Harry's words.

"Ah... yes," Harry replied, with a glance at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes, and gave Harry a small nudge, and a head gesture towards the dance floor. He wasn't comfortable with letting Harry dance with others, but chivalry and just plain good manners demanded that no man embarrass a woman - and Pansy was obviously asking for a dance.

"Ahm, would you like to dance?" Harry asked the girl. Draco gave a small, satisfied nod.

Pansy's success emboldened the others, and girls from every House, including Gryffindor, despite the Gryffindor boys' remonstrations against dancing with Slytherins, shyly accosted one or the other of the two Slytherin boys for the next two hours, trying to inveigle them into a dance without appearing to be too forward.

For their parts, the two boys acted like gentlemen and did the expected thing, saving the girls from the embarrassment of rejection. They felt no such compunctions about turning down the few boys that asked them to dance. But then it was time for the lower years to return to their dorms, leaving the party for the upperclassmen.

What had surprised Harry, however, was that Pansy had only requested one dance from each of them, and then contented herself with dancing with other boys. Too many girls had tried to get more than one dance with them, so Pansy could have justified pushing for more herself, but she hadn't.

Once back in the Slytherin Commons, Harry and Draco had rested with the other underclassmen of their House in front of the fire and talked about the dance and those attending it with everyone else. When the talk had died down a bit, Harry asked Draco for a private talk in their dorm room. But when they got there, Harry cast locking and silencing charms on their door.

"I know we don't have any music," Harry said with a shy, blushing smile, "but could I have the honour of this dance?"

Draco felt a bit awkward, but Harry looked so cute in his embarrassment that he accepted: but not without letting the moment draw out and become filled with tension before he answered. He loved creating a drama.

And something strange happened. As Harry started leading Draco in a dance to music only he could hear, their moves started to become ever more smooth, until by the end of the dance they almost looked as though they'd been dancing together for years. Nobody would have said their dancing was of professional quality, but it was every bit as good as people several years their senior who had much more practise than they, despite the lack of room, which had stilted their moves.

"That... was great!" Harry enthused as he tried to catch his breath. "Let's go show the others!"

"No!" Draco exclaimed in a panic. "I will not..." He was too embarrassed to explain that he didn't want everyone seeing him dancing in the girl's position. "Harry, no!"

Draco's expression and red face was enough to tell Harry what was wrong: if not in detail, then at least the gist of it. Harry was a bit disappointed, but forced himself to cheer up again.

"Okay, but we _have_ to do that again: preferably with music, and in the practise room!" Harry insisted.

Draco was indecisive, but then, "Just... nobody watches, all right?"

"All right," Harry readily agreed.

"And you have to learn to follow, too!" Draco insisted.

Harry was more doubtful about that. After all, he had just learnt how to lead, and do it fairly well. But studying his friend's face, he saw that Draco was going to be difficult about it unless he agreed, so, "All right," he said again, reluctantly.

As it turned out however, even with the best of intentions and instruction from Madam Trentakoff, Harry couldn't dance backwards to save his life: at least not at someone else' direction. He tripped, mis-stepped, and generally couldn't keep from trying to peer around to see where he was going. As much as it galled Draco, if he wanted to dance with Harry (and he did, despite anything he might say), he'd have to follow, and let Harry lead.

Pansy's backing off from pushing herself at Draco extended not only to the dance, but to every other aspect of their school lives. She was still there, and she didn't ignore them or become standoffish, but her attempts to insinuate herself into Draco's life and affections ceased, and she started paying more attention to other boys.

Slytherin won all but one of their Quidditch matches that year, and Harry had learned all of the basics he needed to know to get by in the wizarding world. It would be a while before he learned all of the subtleties, but that would come with time.

The unofficial dueling club had been a huge help, as well - especially after Professors Snape and Flitwick started dropping in, and dropping 'hints'. Harry and Draco hoped it would continue on into the next year, at least.

And their pranking career continued on apace, as did their unofficial feud with Ronald Weasley. If the redhead had only left off, his life would have been much easier, but he stubbornly insisted on trying to 'get even' with the Slytherin duo. Unfortunately for him, any small victory he achieved was soon afterward vastly overshadowed by Draco and Harry's revenge on him.

The summer was again full of tutors and lessons, but since Harry had learned the essentials of wizarding life, Narcissa wasn't again tutoring him in that, which meant another couple of hours per day of free time. Harry and Draco made good use of that time. Lucius warned the boys however, that starting at the winter solstice, their holidays would see them learning the essentials needed to run a business and an estate, and they'd have far less free time.

~*~

By the beginning of the next school year Harry had developed a mild fascination with Draco's arse. He just couldn't seem to keep his hands off it - when they were in private, anyway. Smoothing Draco's arse cheeks was a favourite occupation, but he wasn't always aware he was doing it. The one time he did pay particular attention to what he was doing, however, was when they were in the shower, when he explored all of Draco's buttocks, including the blond's arse crack. Of course Draco's hand 'washing' Harry's straining member was a bit distracting, but that seemed to be _Draco's_ favourite toy.

Draco had started wondering what it might be like to have Harry stick a finger or two into his bunghole instead of just rubbing it, or even his hard penis. At thirteen they had just started being able to shoot when they orgasmed, and they had also begun to use their mouths more on each other - not yet to the point of oral sex, but that was just a matter of time. But getting themselves and each other off had become even more pleasurable with the advent of their ability to ejaculate: so much so that chafing had become a problem from their frequent searches for that release, spurring them to find and learn some lubricating and healing spells.

Sasha had reached her full adult size, but she was still only about three-quarters the size of a house cat, and loved to ride on Draco's shoulder, when she was allowed. She had long since recognised that her bonded was also bound to the dark-haired human, and since 'Hairy' (silly name, when the boy only had fur on his head) could also hear her, she had included him in her family and was ready to protect him as well, should the need arise. So far however, Hairy had proven quite able to protect himself.

And they had finally been caught at one of their pranks - by the two who usually got the blame for them fortunately, instead of a professor or victim. It had been a close thing, but finally the Weasley twins, Fred and George, had decided to team up with the Slytherin tricksters instead of starting a war with them. The redheads had to admit to a grudging admiration for Harry and Draco's inventiveness and slickness in not getting caught.

Of course Harry and Draco weren't about to admit to _how_ they avoided getting caught. Harry's wandless spell-casting was a secret they were determined to keep as long as possible. Not that his ability in that was the whole of it, of course. There was still a great deal of sneaking, hiding, and other surreptitious activity involved, but with no wand in sight it was easier to deny involvement and be believed if they were accused.

Fred and George had caught them during the preparation for a prank instead of in the execution of one, fortunately, so Harry's secret was safe.

~*~

"Hey, Malfoy!" Ronald called out to the blond as everyone gathered for the Slytherin/Gryffindor double Potions class. "I hear you like to take the girl's position!"

Considering Draco's secret fantasy, Weasley's vague statement caused him to blush. But his quick mind speedily caught on to what the Gryffindor was likely referring: his and Harry's dance lessons. It was last year's news, but he and Harry hadn't talked about it. So how the maddening Gryffindor had found out about him following to Harry's lead... But he could investigate it later.

"Jealous, Weasley? It doesn't surprise me that you'd have no dancing skills of your own," he drawled with a sneer, at the same time clearing up any misapprehensions his fellow classmates might have been given by the redhead's words.

"You admit it, then?" Weasley sneered.

"I rather like learning to dance," Harry injected, "but I have absolutely no skill at following." It was still true. Almost a year later, and Harry still couldn't dance backward unless he initiated it. "Draco is much more skillful than I and is able to-"

"He's the girl, then," Ronald interrupted with malicious satisfaction. Finally he was getting some measure of revenge on those two! Maybe he wouldn't need to avail himself of that scary man's plan after all. But Black _had_ killed many people in his time, after all, so it probably wouldn't be wise to double-cross him.

Harry negated Draco's move to draw his wand, and regarded the redhead. "You're going to regret that insinuation, Weasel," he said softly.

Sasha quietly teleported into the space just under the lowest shelf on the side of the room, in case she was needed.

"Why are you not all seated?" Professor Snape snapped as he entered the room, interrupting whatever comeback Ron may have made, although it didn't stop the mean-spirited grin he gave Harry and Draco.

Harry waited until about halfway through the class, then surreptitiously tossed a mouse toenail into the redhead's potion, which caused thick smoke to pour out of it. Covered by this distraction, Harry cast a spell.

When the smoke had cleared, everyone stared at Ron.

His face expressionless, Professor Snape said, "Five points from Gryffindor for indecent exposure. Cover yourself, Mister Weasley."

Ron's rather insignificant penis was now attached where his nose should have been.

A very bewildered Ron stared at Professor Snape, wondering what he was talking about, and then at the rest of the classroom as their laughter grew.

Sniggering, Draco whispered, "Where's his nose?" to Harry. Seated next to Harry, he had been the only one to see Harry's hand gesture.

"Let's just say his crotch smells just now, okay?" Harry replied quietly, with a smirk.

Draco joined his classmates in uproarious laughter.

Ron was horror-stricken when he discovered what had been done to him, and quickly tied a lab rag over his face, leaving only his eyes visible, then rushed off to the infirmary.

"Let that be a lesson to you all," Professor Snape said. "Always be extremely careful of what you put into your potion."

After class, on their way out, Professor Snape called Harry and Draco back.

"Very clever, Mister Potter," the potions master said quietly, "but don't ever let me _catch_ you doing anything like that."

"Like what, sir?" Harry said, unable to prevent a small, sly smirk from gracing his face.

"Very good, Potter. On to your next class, now," the teacher replied with a small smile.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

Out in the corridor, Draco said, "He must have seen!"

"But he can't prove anything, and he seemed rather pleased," Harry replied with a smile.

"Odd, that," Draco agreed. Although the potions professor had always treated the members of his own House better than members of any of the others, seeing him smile was almost unheard of.

Snape _was_ very pleased. He only wished James Potter was alive to see how thoroughly Slytherin his son had become. It would have been a better revenge had he been involved, but the boy seemed to have done it on his own.

~*~

"What did our Ronniekins do now?" George asked them later that same day, having heard of the prank from both their brother and other Gryffindors.

"He insinuated that Draco and I were queer, that Draco was the 'girl' of the relationship, and-"

"Enough," Fred interjected, with a frown.

"No truth to it?" George asked.

Harry and Draco glared at him. Did the redhead actually expect them to admit to any such relationship?

"I can't dance backwards, so Draco has had to, in order to help me learn," Harry said tersely, avoiding the question. Madam Trentakoff was teaching them Spanish dance at present, but only as a change of pace. They'd soon be returning to more traditional European styles. Since Draco _did_ need a partner to learn to be able to lead in those dances he wasn't already familiar with, Madam Trentakoff filled in on those occasions, but she much preferred to do her teaching from a remove.

"It seems we've failed our little brother," George said to his twin.

"How long has this been going on?" Fred asked.

"He's been an arse since before we were Sorted," Draco replied.

George cast a slightly jaundiced eye on the blond. "We _do_ have something of a family feud going on," he pointed out.

"Why?" Harry asked. "I mean, _we_ get along famously!"

"Yes, well, professional courtesy, and all that," Fred replied with a wry grin. "We pranksters have to stick together!"

"Speaking of which, weren't you going to show us your lab?" Draco put in.

"We were, but you both rather showed off ickle Ronnie's shortcomings," George replied.

"Harry's idea," Draco replied, demurring responsibility. He rather wished he _had_ been involved, though.

Harry smirked at George's wording, and shrugged. "He shouldn't have been such a prick, and shoved his nose in where it didn't belong," he said, revealing the thought process that had led to the final form of his revenge.

Both twins grinned at that, admiring the justice of the prank. But there was still family honour to consider.

"I think we need to spend a bit more time with our youngest brother," Fred said.

"Teach him more socially acceptable modes of behaviour," George added.

Harry eyed them dubiously. "You mean like yours?" he asked suspiciously. Draco was looking more than a bit doubtful as well.

"Of course!" George replied with a grin. "Just because we often ignore them..."

"...doesn't mean we don't know them," Fred finished.

Harry gave an expressive shrug that said, 'Okay - whatever you say,' and still conveyed his distrust of their words. If Ronald started pranking he and Draco, the twins would find that Harry had kept his best pranking material to himself.

"The lab?" Draco reminded them.

George levelled a small frown at the blond, and then shrugged. "This way."

Fred and George Weasley's lab, where they literally cooked up some of their finest pranks, was in an abandoned storage room near the kitchens, and only accessible by a series of narrow, hidden walkways and disguised doors.

"We think the castle shifts around from time to time," the twins explained, "and that's why this room got lost."

"How did you find it, then?" Draco inquired.

The twins exchanged glances, and then George pulled out a piece of parchment. "We've got a map," he said. "Found it in an old book in the library."

"It's just a blank piece of parchment!" Draco said, looking at it.

Grinning, George took out his wand, and tapped the parchment with it. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he intoned.

Faint lines started to appear on the parchment, which got darker, and little dots started to appear on it, and names next to the dots.

"It shows every room in the castle," Fred proudly declared.

"And shows where everyone is, in it," George added.

"So where are we?" Harry asked.

Fred pointed out a small room on the map. There were four dots in it, with all their names next to them.

Looking over the rest of the map, Harry found the Slytherin dorms.

"How did he get in _there?_" Harry asked, speaking to nobody in particular.

"Come on! Ronald's in our room!" Suiting action to words, Harry started for the door, but stopped when Draco didn't immediately follow him.

"Sasha!" Draco snapped out. A second later, the dirl-cat popped in.

Speaking to his familiar, Draco said, "There's an intruder in our room. Try not to hurt him _too_ badly, but stop him, and keep him there until we can get there." Draco's face had looked pained as he issued the directive to minimise damage, but considering that the youngest Weasley boy's two brothers were right there with him, he had felt it politic to do so.

Sasha issued a small 'mew' of assent, and disappeared. All four boys immediately made haste towards the Slytherin dorms.

Madam Pomfrey had managed to correct Ron's anatomy earlier in the day, but shortly after Sasha arrived he was huddling in a corner of the room that Harry, Draco, Greg and Vince shared. His robes were in tatters, and he was bleeding freely from several cuts, including a few on his face, and occasionally trying to hex Sasha, which only earned him a reprisal from the dirl-cat.

Fred and George hadn't been allowed entrance to Slytherin House of course, so it was only Harry and Draco who burst into the room.

"Weasley," Draco snarled. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Ron glared at him. "Call it off, Malfoy," he said, referring to Sasha.

"Sasha," Draco said, going over to his desk as Harry kept guard, "I'll have a note for you to take to Professor Snape shortly."

"No!" Ron exclaimed, in a panic.

"Drop your wand, Weasley," Harry said, his own wand in hand.

"I'll be expelled!" Ron said, ignoring Harry's directive.

"You have a choice, Weasley," Draco almost purred, although there was a rather nasty quality to it. "You can tell us how you got in here, and we'll turn you over to your brothers, or-"

"Fred and George? They're outside?" Ron said hopefully as he scrambled to his feet, and then he tried to make a break for the door.

"_Petrificus Totalis!"_

Harry's spell froze Ron in place, just as Sasha appeared clinging to the redhead's back. The dirl-cat paused, confused that her target was no longer moving, and then jumped to the floor. She started sniffing around the boy, trying to figure out what had happened.

_Frozen, but not cold,_ Sasha sent questioningly to both Draco and Harry.

"It's a spell, Sasha," Harry explained, then he turned to Draco.

"Well, what do we do now?" Harry asked.

Draco's expression and shrug said more eloquently than words that he was just as lost as Harry.

"He likely _will_ be expelled if we turn him over to Snape, won't he?" Harry said.

Draco frowned slightly. "I don't know," he admitted. "What was he doing in here?"

A thorough search of Ron's person discovered nothing incriminating, so the boys started searching their room to see if there was anything different.

There was. A crystal had been hidden in Draco's effects - an oily, greasy looking green crystal.

"Don't touch it," Draco warned Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I don't know... but I'm not willing to bet it's harmless," Draco said grimly. He quickly wrote out the note he'd only been threatening before, and gave it to Sasha.

"Take this to Professor Snape, Sasha," he directed. The dirl-cat took the note in her mouth, and vanished.

Professor Snape was in the midst of teaching a class to the fifth-year Hufflepuffs, and attempted to ignore the dirl-cat when she showed up on his desk. However she created such a distraction trying to get his attention that he finally, snarling, snatched the note that Sasha was so obviously trying to deliver, from her mouth.

Professor:  
Emergency. Please come to our dorm room soonest.  
Sincerely,  
Draco Malfoy

The potions master took note of the Weasley twins seated across the corridor from the Slytherin entrance as he stormed up to the entryway. They looked at him worriedly, but he ignored them. He muttered the password under his breath, then stalked angrily to the third-year rooms.

"This had **best** be important, Mister Malfoy!" Professor Snape snapped out angrily as he stormed into their room. "And what is a _Gryffindor_ doing in here?" he demanded, noting the boy's condition. Ron was still bleeding slowly, even though he couldn't move.

"We'd like to know the same thing, sir," Harry said. "Sasha caught him," which explained away the boy's injuries, "but it appears he was trying to leave us a 'gift'," he said, indicating the crystal. "Can you tell us what it is?"

* * *

Betas: Ishe-Leigh, Dawn B., Sheree S., Aayesha

Due to some reviews with concerns about Harry and Draco's early sexual experiences with each other, I ask you to look up information about Child Sexual Development. I did.


	12. Five Minutes: 9

_Five Minutes_

by Draeconin

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and details._

**Chapter Nine **

After casting several spells, Professor Snape turned to Harry and Draco, his nostrils flaring. His voice was low and threatening as he said, "You disrupted one of my classes for _this?_ A protection amulet?" Almost as an afterthought, he turned and cast 'Finite' on Weasley.

"Get yourself-" Snape started to say to the bleeding boy, but was interrupted by the redhead.

"A _protection_ charm?" Ronald exclaimed. "A bloody _protection_ charm?"

"What did _you_ think it was, Weasley?" Draco inquired.

Ron hesitated. "A protection charm, of course," he said, trying to cover his tracks.

"Your concern for Mister Potter's welfare is touching," Snape's voice drawled. "And how did you come by this amulet?" he asked, his face now showing a degree of suspicion as his curiousity overrode his irritation with his Slytherins. The boy was definitely trespassing where didn't belong, after all. And gifting someone he was constantly at odds with, with a _protection_ amulet? Not likely.

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**That's all, folks. It's abandoned, just like the summary says.**

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